


Gold

by slytherintbh



Series: The Demon's Apprentice [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Animal Sacrifice, Anxiety Attacks, Biphobia, Blood Magic, Canon Compliant up To Sock Opera, Cults, Dark Dipper Pines, Fluff and Suffering, Gen, Homophobia, Human Sacrifice, Innuendo, Magic, Manipulation, Murder, Slow Burn, Stockholm Syndrome, Swearing, The innuendo is all Bill he's such an asshole, Torture, Triangle Bill Cipher, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love, Witch Hunt, far darker than initially intended, i love you really ;-;, i'm sorry ford, pitchforks being used in an entirely different way than they were meant to, some good ol' blood and gore, wahey and there it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-04-28 06:31:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 103,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5081287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherintbh/pseuds/slytherintbh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The accomplice of Bill Cipher: mass murderer, practitioner, general mystery man. Stanford swore they'd catch him and make him pay. It was a promise made in earnest, one that he intended to fulfill.</p><p>Dipper Pines, accomplice of Bill Cipher, didn't really stand a chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Traitors Don’t Get Mercy (Prologue)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [psychosomatic86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychosomatic86/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Pines family was not famed for its normalcy, and even within that category of oddity, Dipper Pines was a bit of a black sheep. Bullied, traumatised, chased by supernatural monsters - his life was one of action, and not one that many would envy. Something was always on Dipper’s heels. Generally, said heels were pelting in the opposite direction, at borderline unnatural speeds. It was the one positive thing going for him, his incredible running speed. Or so the teen believed. After 15 years of introspection and extremely poor decision making, this one hint of athleticism seemed like a singular positive point among a sea of idiotic decisions.

The whole running thing was helped along by legs that seemed to stretch for a mile beneath him. His lanky body and unfortunate hair were matched up with an even more unfortunate voice. Naturally, it no longer wavered wildly (he wasn’t twelve any more) but had settled into a frustratingly high pitch. It was this that Mabel was lovingly mocking as Stanford pulled him into the basement room.

“You sound so cute though-!”

Dipper carefully ignored his sister. “Grunkle Ford, is this really necessary? I mean - I’ve seen you do all this stuff countless times before, right?” His tone was imploring, almost excessively so. “We’ve not got that much of summer left. I want to go out, use my time - surely you can sympathise.”

Giving him an unfathomable stare, his Grunkle simply pushed the boy closer to the middle of the room. “Of course I can, Dipper, but you’re leaving soon, and you’ve hardly been present these past months. This is an invaluable experience.”

An odd contrast to previous years, this. Around the age of 14, it had no longer been Dipper following his genius great uncle around, so much as said great uncle dragging him around to see a variety of bizarre supernatural anomalies. It wasn’t that Dipper disliked the supernatural now - oh, quite the opposite - it was just that he could see through the hero-worship that used to blind him. It had almost resulted in Mabel and Dipper being split up and that… that had revealed Ford’s humanity. Dipper could still see the moments of betrayal flicker behind his sister’s eyes from time to time; the shame that ran through him never quite dulled..

Maybe the older man had caught on to his failings as Dipper had, for the attention he paid them became far more even and much more ‘Stan-esque’ in nature. After inviting the pair to play potentially life-threatening board games almost every evening and only ever getting one positive response, the increasingly disillusioned Grunkle had given up his attempts, allowing the teen to do as he wanted.

Defending this decision arguably became difficult as the boy in question disappeared frequently and returned smelling of forest and ozone, with no adequate explanations. The shimmering haze of summer made it all very easy to ignore, up until the sudden change in situation. Now every action was tinged with desperation, and with vengeance, and a certain understanding of the value of family.

All of which lead to Ford bringing Dipper to see his ritual.

Wincing, Dipper had to concede. The teen had probably seen more of the woods than the shack over the summer, and it wasn’t due to monster hunting as he would have his family believe, or to… Bradley. His net of lies was growing ever more tangled, threads thinning with the tales he’d likely forgotten or mixed up.  _ Damn _ his lack of preparation. There must have been a way around this.

“We just need to set this up perfectly, so we can catch the accomplice of Cipher and get some answers.”

Dipper winced.

Oh, he was  _ so _ screwed.

“It’s a fascinating concept, Dipper! The union of magic and machine. Naturally, I don’t expect you to have any knowledge of magic, but the technology side shouldn’t cause you any problems. Look, you stand here -” he shuffled his grand nephew around, pointing at a large summoning circle on the grubby concrete. It covered almost half of the area of the floor. “- Mabel, if you would go stand opposite? Thank you.”

As Dipper looked down, he wondered what the circle had been drawn with, and if he could rub some of it out. The smallest gap could shut the entire thing down, and be almost entirely impossible to rectify without re-drawing the circle completely. When Grunkle Ford seemed distracted, he shot one foot out and dragged it across one of the white lines, swearing under his breath when it didn’t budge.  _ Dammit!  _ Not chalk, then. Why, of all times, was it now that Ford decided to turn to paint? 

Life hated him, evidently. Another escape route was required. None were apparent.

“Now, allow me to explain.” A quiet hum jumped up from one corner of the room, Grunkle buried in a mass of wiring. “The computers over there are connected to the circle, and are going to act as the power source. It’s a bit of a gamble. Working on the summoning ritual for Cipher, I’ve edited the spell and the circle to call on anyone who is channeling his power - which we know someone is - and it ought to incapacitate them before teleporting them here.” Ford paused for breath. “Well, that’s the theory, anyway. It’s not very efficient, I’m afraid. It was the best I could come up with given - given the circumstances.”

Not for the first time in his life, Dipper was hyperventilating. The excitement radiating from the older man at the prospect of testing out another invention was almost disturbing. Was he caught up in the anticipation of doing good, or showing off his ‘intellect’? Momentarily, the teen wished he could be 12 again, trusting his Grunkle completely and seeing only the best in his (quite frankly) abhorrent ego. Being around Stanley had mellowed Ford out somewhat, yet in situations like these...

If the erratic breathing continued, the spell wouldn’t need to incapacitate anyone. The ensuing anxiety attack would manage that all by itself. Dipper took a stab in the dark. “I really don’t think this is necessary. It’s just some accomplice, right? Why not go for Cipher himself?”

Turning, his Grunkle looked over, eyes hidden by the light that hit the panes in front of them. It was awful when Ford’s glasses flashed like that. “People have died, Dipper. Bill is the next target, but for now, we take out any enemy that we possibly can.” Both twins flinched at this, not missing the fury in his tone; Stan wasn’t present for that exact reason. “We really don’t have any time to waste. Let’s get this going.”

Walking to the side of the paint, Ford raised his arms and began to speak, voice deepened and rolling easily over the Latin. “ _ Triangulum conscium, entangulum.  _ _ Ero vobis in ruinam iniquitas. Induxero vos ad me.” _

Nothing happened. 

Heaving a stifled sigh of relief, Dipper shrugged. “Seems like it’s not working. Oh well, there’s always -”

The circle  _ pulsed. _

Neither Ford nor Mabel reacted, but Dipper felt the magic beat into his body and tried not to stumble, wincing at the sensation of his own heated power turned against him. It wasn’t  _ so _ bad, he reasoned. The way that the paint flashed was almost pretty. He had a headache, but well, maybe his lessons would be enough and he could fight against this. There was another pulse, heavier this time, and it felt like a wall pushing into his bones. His headache worsened considerably. Another pulse. God, how much did Ford want him to suffer? Although, Dipper supposed, Ford didn’t know that the target was, in fact, his great nephew.

Well, not yet, anyway.

A slight wheezing was emanating from the summoning circle now, computers beeping incessantly in a cacophony of frantic sound. Another pulse. Dipper felt something warm on his face, and brought his hand up to his nose, trembling. It came away bloodied. Even as his breathing sped up, he could hear Mabel’s faint cry of worry. Another pulse.

“Dipper? Are you okay?” His twin was barely audible over the rush of magic. 

The pressure in the teen’s head was too great, and his vision began to cloud. Each time there was a pulse, the time in between decreased, and now it was a constant and agonising drumming against his skull. This was _torture_ , never mind harmless ‘incapacitation’. Stanford had designed this to make the enemy _suffer._ If Dipper had been in the right state of mind, he would’ve been shocked at the absolute callousness of the spell, the unfamiliar brutality that one never expects from family. However, he was ultimately preoccupied with the uncomfortable rush of his blood dripping down to the floor, and the absolute terror gripping his heart. No, no, no, _no_ _nononononono -_

“Grunkle Ford!” The shriek of fear was abnormally high, even from Mabel. “What’s wrong with him!?”

“Dipper?” Another pulse. Ford sounded worried. Realisation seeped into the air, a tinge of disbelief. The next time he spoke, it was a growl. “ _ DIPPER. _ ”

Needless to say, Dipper was not surprised when nobody caught him as he fell into black.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... and now we get no closure on this until much later on. Aren't I wonderful?
> 
> The Latin chant (roughly) translates to: 'Triangle accomplice, I invoke you. I will be your ruin. I bring you to me.' EDITED ON 22/02/16
> 
> SONG: 'The Long Way Down' by Robert DeLong


	2. The Rock and The Hard Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the story actually starts! The prologue was a snippet right from the end, and as such has no bearing on the events of the upcoming chapters. Hope you enjoy!

Phobias were awful things. They ruled you, and they destroyed you, and in the case of Owen ‘Dipper’ Pines they became a cause for concern among your family.

Naturally, Dipper was petrified of puppets. He had the misfortune of living with a twin who adored them, but Mabel realized just how deep his fear ran and tried to gather all hers away, only leaving the odd one scattered around their house in Piedmont. Having his body hijacked age twelve had done odd things to the boy, so if he screamed unnaturally loudly when he happened upon one of the felt menaces, nobody would mention it out of respect for that. They definitely mentioned the pitch of the scream, though.

It wasn't just puppets. It was reverends, forks, theaters, garden gnomes and going down the stairs too quickly. It was blue lights and shaking people's hands. When meeting his father's boss for the first time he had almost shrieked at the outstretched palm before gathering himself, unable to shift the sick feeling at the back of his throat. He feared snow globes, mirrors (if only because he missed Tyrone) and toy lasers. He slept fitfully, if he slept at all.

The oddest things would throw him back into the events of that summer. A slightly mad cackle would make him hyperventilate; the feeling of brief existential crises led to fully blown flashbacks and terrified pinching of the arms, just to reassure himself that there wasn’t, in fact, a demon under his skin.

Nobody really understood it. 

Mabel was mortified by his change in character. Somehow, she borrowed thirty books from the library and diagnosed him with PTSD. “It all seems to point that way, bro-bro.” Seeing the look of horror on his face, she winced, trying for a reassuring smile. “It’s okay! We can help you out now, see?”

‘Helping out’ turned out to not just be therapy (which Dipper expected), but a great deal of video games and frequently hiding the third journal. 

“Grunkle Ford lent me the Journal specifically so that I could study away from Gravity Falls, Mabel! What if it got lost, or damaged, or - I don’t know, somebody else gets their hands on it?” Dipper swiped at the journal and Mabel held it high above her head, frowning. 

“Nope, Dip-Dop. No Journal for you. We’re trying to make you get better, not worse.” 

The year after, Mabel had almost ended up going to Gravity Falls alone. Worried, both their parents had considered keeping Dipper at home - he just wasn't stable anymore - but Stan had convinced them to let him visit. In comparison to the year previous, it was tame and the teens found themselves nearing boredom on a few occasions. One of the conditions of the trip had been that neither were allowed to go into the forest alone anymore. Considering that was all Dipper had done before, any interest was lost, although he would tag along with Ford from time to time.

It was during these trips that his dislike for his great uncle began to become apparent. Unlike Stanley, Stanford had no doubt of his self worth… it shouldn’t have been a bad thing, only his focus on his ‘great intellect’ in times of danger made the teen want to punch things. 

“It’s like - you’re smart, _we get it already!_ ” Dipper had griped one night, cuddled up to his twin sister. He shook his head. “I don’t know when he began to bug me so much. Has he changed?”

A hand went up to Dipper’s face, covering up his eyes. Mabel giggled at her brother’s confused expression. “Grunkle Ford has always been like that, bro. I think you’ve just become a better judge of character. Like me!” She splayed the fingers of her hand, so that he could see out. “You can see stuff clearer now. Although I wouldn’t get too mad at him - I think that’s just the way he is.” 

Dipper tried, he really did. 

Then, one day, when his illnesses were irritating him more than usual and he just didn’t have the _patience_ , he snapped. 

Roused from slumber at a stupidly early time, he had stumbled into his clothing and been subject to an unexpectedly long lecture about the supernatural species of the day - goblins, or something. The teenager wasn’t particularly present, blinking sleep out of his eyes even as he realised that he had managed to shove his slipper _into_ his shoe. It wasn’t a fabric slipper either. Dipper sighed, slipping his thoughts into the stream of knowledge pouring from his guide.

Ford was wide awake, bustling, long coat flapping in the wind as always. A ‘hero coat’, actually. How fitting.

“Now, I know you’ve read the Journals, all three by now, yes? Ah, good good, you’ll need to remember a fair amount about these little guys, they gave me quite a lot of trouble back in the day. Games always depict them incorrectly. Not that they could know what they’re actually like, of course. The reality is much less humanoid, and a lot shorter. I think that I placed them at around 3 feet tall; I should amend that, actually. They’re far closer to 2 feet tall. Varying shades of green to muddy brown.”

Christ, did this man ever shut up? It was only 8am and even in the fresh morning air, Dipper could feel the regular pulse of a headache building.

“Dipper?” 

Oh geez, did he ask a question? Maybe not. Their journey into the undergrowth had not stalled.

“Honestly, I think that the therapy is probably unnecessary.” Dipper almost fell over a tree trunk at that comment. “We’re Pines, after all. Oddly resilient, especially in the face of adversity. A little too open to the prospect of greatness, perhaps, although you never did say what that deal with Cipher was for.”

Silence. 

“You know Dipper, you really do remind me of myself when I was a teenager. Gifted, inquisitive, knowing that you were made for greater things. You know what I mean, don’t you? “ His Grunkle had turned around, only to see the boy stood utterly motionless aside from a tremble in his fingers. “Dipper?”

“No,” he spat through grated teeth. The headache was almost unbearable, face screwed up in frustration. ‘Thought he didn't need therapy’, huh? How nice. “I am _nothing_ like you. Quit acting like it, would you? Stroke your ego some other way.”

Gosh _damn_ if that didn’t burn a hole in their relationship.

Even Stan was furious with him; he wouldn’t have Dipper working in the shop for a good week after, grumbling something about his brother being a pretentious ass most of the time but ‘still not deserving that kind of treatment, thank you very much.’ Acting acceptably ashamed, the teen had apologised, babbling something about bad days and hormones or something. 

Two years on, and the damage wasn’t really gone.

A fifteen year old Dipper Pines wallowed on his bed, staring down a bottle of pills on the table. The bottle stared back. Or, it sure seemed like it did - the guilt that he felt as he continually put off having to take his medication drove him wild, until he grabbed it’s cylindrical edge frantically and yanked the lid off. Two small, round pills fell easily into his palm. Now, if he could just swallow them properly this time…

Swigging his water, Dipper gagged at the awful aftertaste and wished, not for the first time, that he didn’t have to take part in this daily ritual. He could appreciate what the medication did for him. Feeling relatively human on a day to day basis was definitely not something he wanted to stop.

He did not appreciate the taste, or the concerned ‘did you remember today?’ that he was subject to every morning.

To partner this, Mabel’s eyes would light with an odd kind of sorrow that lamented the fact that her brother needed anti-depressants, while simultaneously being painfully glad that he had something to balance out his mood and keep him as the Dipper she knew. On occasion he would have the terrifying thought that just maybe the ‘normal’ Dipper was actually the fake, but he squashed that idea the second it arose. 

Pulling on a checkered flannel and some worn jeans, he pattered soundlessly down the stairs.

“Morning bro-bro! Did you -” 

Mabel’s greeting was quickly silenced by Dipper raising a hand. “Yeah. All medicated up.” He winced. “That wasn’t… that didn’t come out the way I meant it to. You know what I mean.”

Simultaneously, he and his twin parked themselves at the dining table, yanking a few pancakes from a heavily overloaded plate in the centre and shoving them onto their own. Always the picture of moderation, Dipper went for a semi-generous covering of maple syrup and tucked in. Mabel took a full three minutes more for her preparation, shoving sprinkles on in excess. 

“Mabel, do you want some pancake with your toppings?” The girl looked up and stuck her tongue out at her brother, just as Stan ruffled his hair heavily.

“Let the girl live a little, kid. I reckon she’s got the right idea. Hey, Ford, come look at this, I think Mabel could be breaking a world record!” 

The more sensible Grunkle of the two appeared at the door, peering in. Somehow, he was already kitted out in his full adventuring outfit, gloves and all. His eyes rested on the mountain of sprinkles, then rather uncomfortably onto Dipper. A lingering sense of betrayal could still be read in his eyes, and the boy gulped guiltily, turning to his breakfast. How well the effects of his words had been patched up was still up to debate.

“I think Dipper has the right idea,” the gruff voice opined. “Although the repercussions of consuming that much sugar could be fascinating, food is better experienced with just a touch of extra stimulus.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Blah, nerd stuff, blah. You go, Mabel!”

A hand clamped itself onto Dipper’s shoulder, making the teen look up at the wry smile on Ford’s face. The elder man watched the excited pair across the table (who were now trying to get glitter, peanut butter and plastic dinosaurs to balance atop the mountain) with a certain fondness. He looked down at the mollified look on his grand nephew’s face and his smile grew. “Good morning, Dipper. Feeling okay?”

Nodding, the boy attempted to copy his Grunkle’s cheery look. “Today is a good day, I think.”

“That makes three in a row! Good going, Dipper. Now, lets see if I can grab a few of those pancakes before the others ruin them all, hm?”

He was trying so hard.

In fact, Ford tried so hard to amend his actions of before it was almost painful to be around him. Overly jovial, supportive of Dipper’s gradual progress towards a more stable mental health, much more invested in Mabel - it would have been an incredible turnaround, were he not still the same person as before.

The teen sighed into his pancakes.

Awful as it made him feel, he still couldn’t bring himself to truly like his Grunkle as he had prior. He supposed that having your ego slowly groomed by a dream demon did make a person permanently self-interested and impressed, and he wished that it wasn’t such a prominent part of Ford’s personality. He was improving, though. Maybe if they gave it time…

“Hey, shorty, are you trying to burn holes into those with your eyes or what?” All three of his family members were staring. He’d been glaring into his breakfast with an odd determination, obviously, and Stan waved his cane just shy of his nose. “You with us today?”

“Yeah! Yeah, sorry. Thinking.” 

“I was just saying, Dipper, it’s the migration of the fairies this evening.” He and Ford had seen it before, of course, but it was always an enjoyable sight. “If you’re feeling up to it, we were all gonna go.”

Three sets of eyes stared imploringly, making the boy shift uncomfortably at the unwanted attention. Unless he decided to drastically change his holiday habits, then he obviously had the spare time, so asking was a bit pointless, mere courtesy. “Uh, sure. Why not?” 

A relieved atmosphere spread through the air, and the mountain building continued.

***

“And to your left, you can see a wild manotaur! Don’t be afraid to take pictures guys, he’s totally friendly! Unless you’re a multibear. Which… nobody seems to be, so go right ahead!”

Mabel was really good at this.

Naturally, Dipper had been on many of Mabel’s tours before (he was still not allowed to do his own, because he was ‘so awkward it was like watching the Ducktective Christmas Special’). Just a week into the summer and she was already a real Miss Mystery, kitted out in the full outfit with fez and cane, eyepatch slapped on with gold glitter and her very own bow tie. Stan really had turned her into a full on capitalist. “If you want to get your photographs turned into prints, you need only come to the gift shop where we will do so for you! Fee is subject to change and decided on a case by case basis.”

The last sentence was muttered with her mouth still pulled into a grin. It was terrifying.

Scuffing his foot into the ground, Dipper considered the trail of tourists with a wary eye. He was tagging on uselessly at the end of their disorganised queue, parka shrugged easily over his shoulders and vaguely bored. One or two were still snapping pictures with cameras of varying quality. Always happy to be appreciated, Chutzpar flexed his muscles widely before casting an eye over the watching teen and sighing. 

Dipper was fully aware that he was a lanky, awkward and slightly effeminate guy. Why Chutzpar needed to point this out every time they met was beyond him.

Just as the manotaur disappeared back into the brush, huffing something about ‘do you even lift?’ in Dipper’s general direction, a high pitched collection of sounds sparked from the opposite side of the trail. 

A flock of fairies (clutching tiny suitcases, ready for that evening. Dipper would never get over that) passed through the gathered humans, chittering furiously in their piping voices, apparently oblivious to the loud clicking of cameras. One of the very smallest had dropped their bag onto the forest floor and was searching through the soil frantically, berated wildly by one of the elders. 

Fairies. So much like humans in so many ways. 

Chirruping, the small fairy seemed to have located its bag, as it darted up and displayed it proudly to the other. It received a clip round the ear for its efforts and fluttered away grumpily, disappearing into the mass of trees.

“That’s an amazing illusion,” one woman whispered boorishly, mouth agape. “Makes you real wonder how they do it, doesn’t it honey?”

A balding man, obviously her husband, responded in an excessively british accent. “Oh, it’s all projections and puppets, dear. It doesn’t take a genius to know that. They’re very convincing though, I’ll give you that.”

Nibbling at her lip, she nodded, although she didn’t look all that sure. “If you say so,” she replied loudly, and then to herself, “but I can’t see any projectors…”

Catching onto their conversation, Mabel pressed hastily on. “Okay guys! We’re now going to be going through a very dark section of the forest - we couldn’t put any lights up here, so if you want to use your phones as a light source then please feel free to do so! Look with caution… anything could be around here.” She was met with a selection of ‘ooh’s’ and ‘ahh’s’ for her efforts, and more than one phone light flared up among the crowd.

They walked in silence for a short while, waiting on something.

“What on the earth?” The party slowed to a halt.

Dipper frowned. That was the expected response to this area day to day, but not from Mabel. Lifting his gaze from the floor, he caught sight of what had caused her outburst, and gulped inwardly.

The trees were covered, from top to toe, with triangular shapes. Each one was roughly hewn as though by a blunt knife, some with barely discernible eyes. God, there were hundreds. They hadn’t been there yesterday, although they stared with a bizarre familiarity, puckered edges flayed outwards and the inner cork oddly darkened and aged. Mabel’s eyes caught Dipper’s with an apprehensive look. Without a word, he knew what she was thinking.

_Bill Cipher._

What the maddened etchings meant, well, he had no clue. Nor did she. Maybe meaning was irrelevant; they were certainly unnerving enough without one. Tourists shuffled and muttered uncomfortably.

“Isn’t this a surprise! I wonder what creature made those.” Good on Mabel, trying to recollect herself. “But this really isn’t what I wanted to show you. If you want to come on through this section of undergrowth here, then I can show you something truly incredible: colour changing moss! It’s a beautiful sight, I tell you.” She was met with a few unhappy grumbles, but they continued moving.

Taking one cursory glance as they walked away, Dipper found himself shoving the image to the back of his mind, and then forgetting about it completely. 

***

“Why thank you, one and all, for being such a great crowd today! Please, do peruse our wares and _spend a lot of your money_. I have been Miss Mystery, your guide!”

Watching Mabel bow extravagantly, Dipper laughed at the wild applause and ducked out of the shop, oddly tired despite the hour. Ford passed by holding something glowing and muttered a half-hearted greeting, focus trained on the rising froth in his beaker. Stan also brushed past, casting his gaze over the luminescent liquid and muttering something about ‘nerd stuff’, yanking a set of snow globes down from a stock cupboard.

The boy didn’t even want to know. He ran up the stairs, slamming his door shut behind him and thanking the stars that Mabel wouldn’t be free to pester him for a few hours yet.

Throwing the journal into the corner of his bed, Dipper sat down and rubbed his eyes, noting the sink of the mattress under his weight. He supposed that he should be thankful that Stan wasn’t roping him into work that day, given his vastly edited schedule. Confusingly, he actually spent less hours in the shop than he had when he was younger - something about making the most of holidays while they were still a thing. Still, now he had nothing to do.

Something was prickling at the back of his mind. He held his arms up over his face, sniffing at the scent of the forest in an attempt to soothe. 

“Well hello there, Pine Tree! Long time no see.”

Perfect. 

“Oh, god.” Dipper blinked unhappily at his monochrome surroundings and groaned heavily. Not this, please not this. Another encounter with Bill was really the last thing he needed.

“Technically, I’m a demon, but if you’re up to calling me ‘god’ then I ain’t gonna stop you!” The triangle’s grating voice seemed to echo even more than it had those years before, worming into the ears like the screech of a mosquito. “Gotta say, I missed you, Pine Tree! How long has it been for you? Two years? Three? It feels like an eternity - probably because it literally has been! For me, anyway.”

“Go away.” 

Dipper pulled a cushion over his head and buried his face into the bed, just catching a glimpse of Bill tapping on his medication bottle thoughtfully. “What’re those, Pine Tree?” He gave a maniacal giggle. “‘What’re those?’ Ah, I’m funny! Seriously though, what do you need these for?”

“You screwed me up.” The response was muffled by the bed, and a small black hand lifted up the cushion atop the teen’s head, single eye peering inquisitively. “Oh, don’t pretend you didn’t hear. They’re antidepressants. Funnily enough, when you get possessed by an ‘omniscient’ dream demon ‘with no weaknesses’ at the age of 12, it kind of affects your psyche.”

“Tone down the sass. It doesn’t suit you.” 

“Shut up. Go away. I really don’t want any more therapy sessions. I think I’m allowed a bit of sass.”

With an exaggerated sigh, the demon allowed the pillow to flop listlessly back onto Dipper’s head and sat atop it, his added weight only just noticeable. The cold, rounded tip of a cane thwacked repeatedly on the mattress. “I’m not really here to chat kid, as much fun as this is. I need something, and you’re getting in the way.”

“Good.” The cane thwacked even harder, sending an uncomfortable vibration through the springs of the bed. 

“You’re in no position to do anything, Pine Tree. I’m taking your body. Gonna take it for a spin, as the cool kids say.” The weight on Dipper’s head lessened, and the teen peered out from underneath his cover.

“What?”

Tutting, the dream demon perched himself easily on the table, swinging his cane from side to side. “C’mon kid, it’s not that difficult of a concept. I need your body. Got some stuff I need to sort out, and I require a vessel to do it. Capiche?”

Disgusted sigh aside, Dipper managed to maintain a relatively calm tone. “Why on earth do you think I would make a deal with you? I might be a bit messed up, but I’m not a moron. Learn from one’s mistakes, move on with life, etc etc.” The giggle that followed was not particularly friendly. 

“Oh no kid, it’s not a deal I want. I got that ages ago. Remember what I said, about wanting a puppet? Yeah, that deal was open ended. I still want a puppet, you still gotta deliver. Really need to work on those negotiation skills in the future.” Noticing the distinct lack of response, the pillow was flicked expertly into the air and batted aside, Bill yanking Dipper out of his body. It flopped lifelessly onto the floor. “Not looking your best, huh?”

Helplessly watching Bill dive in, the boy wracked his brain. A horrible sick feeling arose at the sight of those yellow eyes in his face, slits dilating slightly at the sudden light. Twin fires licked at Bipper’s hands, twisted grin alighting on his features.

“There must be a compromise!” His voice verged on hysteria. “I can’t do this again. I can’t.”

Bipper stood, hand pressed up to his chin in consideration. Those bright golden eyes squinted and cast two thin beams of light onto the grey floorboards. “I do have a compromise, if you’re willing, Pine Tree. An amendment, even!” Then he shuffled his sleeves down and considered the pale skin underneath. “Boring. Health is so overrated.”

“What’s the alternative?” Unashamed, Dipper’s desperation filtered through into his voice, making it wobble slightly.

In a bizarre display, he watched himself jump back onto the bed and smirk widely, playing with cobalt blue sparks along calloused fingers. “The alternative, Pine Tree?” Dipper felt a thrill of fear run through him at the sound of the rumbling distortion of Bill's voice. Seeing his fear, Bill laughed. “Why, the alternative is _you_.”

A hundred and one unique implications ran through Dipper's mind at once, settling on the disturbing image of him bowing to Bill, building shrines like - 

“No. No, that's out of the question. Unless you give me more details, I'm not agreeing to anything.” 

Bipper huffed. Evidently, actually creating a fair deal for once had not been on the demon's agenda, although a supposedly omniscient and omnipotent being should have known that the decision would not be made so easily. It seemed that Bill was weighing up his words with care, as he spoke uncharacteristically slowly. 

“Consider it a business proposition, Pine Tree. I have things that I need doing in the physical realm - rituals, blood magic, all that jazz - and I need somebody to do it.” He lounged spectacularly. “It's gonna be you, one way or another. Either I take control for a bit, or you let me instruct you. Like a servant, or a pet. Heh, pet, now that would be funny…”

Struggling to form a coherent sentence, Dipper raised a hand and pinched the bridge of his nonexistent nose with the other. “Okay, first off, please never call me a pet again. Secondly, will my family be affected?”

“Naturally not,” came the nonchalant reply. “I'm not completely heartless, just mostly so.”

“Right… thirdly, what does this ‘instruction’ entail? In terms of my time and, uh, mental health?”

“Paranoid, ain'tcha? It’s nothing too bad. As I say, mostly bits of magic and general demon stuff, you’ll find it a breeze. You’re not stupid, Pine Tree, although you may just be twisted enough to enjoy it.” He saw the way that Dipper huffed and a consternated look flashed across his face for a moment, settling on a smug stare. “Oh, heh, now that’s interesting.”

Dipper blinked nervously. “What?”

“You,” Bill twirled a finger knowingly. “Don’t wanna be like Sixer. Family tensions! I love it.”

“That’s not it!” The voice came out stuttered, uncertain. “I mean, sure, I don’t want to get totally hoodwinked like he did, but I just - uh. It’s complicated.” 

Bipper rolled his eyes. “Yep. Family tensions. Honestly, Sixer ain’t so bad, kid. He just needed to tone down that ego thing of his and maybe he’d have seen through my ploy. Heh. Humans. Hindered by so many faults.” 

A palm sheathed in winking blue flame thrust itself towards Dipper, who flinched back at the sight of himself making a deal. All of the relaxed demeanor from before was gone, gold lights blaring from his eyes abnormally. Frustration grew in Bill's stance as Dipper hesitated. “Well? Do we have a deal or not, Pine Tree?”

Dipper gulped.

Every bit of common sense that Dipper possessed was screaming in horror as he clasped the blue flame. It rose part way up his arm before he was yanked back into his body and the triangle was forcibly ejected, spiraling out into the Mindscape. It was better to be able to act of his own accord. This the teen was sure of; now he could be certain that Bill wouldn’t say anything untoward to his family, or get him arrested, or something similarly destructive. This was the smart option. 

Although, now he was back in his body, the whole panicking thing was becoming a problem.

“Right kid, I’ll be seeing you soon. Gotta set some stuff up back in the Mindscape and - “ the triangle turned around, catching sight of Dipper’s fists clutching at his bedsheets and his poorly controlled shallow gasps. “Whoa, kid, are you okay? I mean, I don’t even know why I’m asking, it’s not like I really care, but I got all my eggs in your basket. Figuratively speaking.”

“Anxiety attack. Doesn’t seem to happen with ghosts. I’m fine.” Breathe in, hold it, breathe out. “Done this plenty of times before.”

Just as colour began to seep back into the world, Dipper felt a cold, rounded finger tap at his forehead, and his vision began to cloud. Something like white noise seemed to run rampant in his head - it was unpleasant to say the least. No argument made it past his lips. “Now, now, kid, you sleep. You’ve got a whole lot of work to be doing tomorrow! I promise, this is going to be your _best summer yet_.”

Mabel walked in to find her brother passed out on his bed in the middle of the afternoon, concerned grimace hanging lightly from his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SONG: 'Polarize' by Twenty One Pilots


	3. The Eyes Have It

Dipper awoke with a start.

The attic room was darkened, stars winking in the windows. The normally rusty red-brown of the wooden walls had turned to a washed out blue-grey, the papers tacked to the wood barely visible in the failing light. Everything was completely still.

Rubbing his eyes, Dipper caught sight of a sticky note pressed on top of his medicine bottle. _You were totally passed out! If you wake up before midnight, we’re in the forest. Love, Mabel xxxx c:_ Crap! The migration of the fairies! He must have missed it. It took him a moment to register the fact that he had, indeed, slept through the afternoon - but why would he -?

Bill. Smacking his lips together distastefully, Dipper groaned. 

Of all the things to pester him this holiday, why the sentient triangle? He’d always been a source of consternation to the teen, mostly because of the seemingly empty threats that had been made a few summers prior. The way Bill had spoken suggested that there had been a bigger plan, and yet no sign of that came. Bipper happened, and aside from a lot of panicking on Ford’s part, the demon hadn’t actually shown his face (side?) since. 

Why now? Just as the boy was starting to pull himself together again, everything went to pot. Somebody out there hated Dipper, and they had decided that he deserved a massive punch in the gut by a fist with ‘Bill’ emblazoned across it.

He still didn’t know what Cipher wanted him to do, though. 

That thought was awful in of itself, and the teen shivered miserably, deciding to make his way down the stairs. Nobody made themselves apparent as he reached the bottom. He checked the clock - 11:13. Perhaps the flock wouldn’t have left just yet! Shrugging his parka on, Dipper grabbed his trademark blue cap and fished out a key, locking the door behind him.

Despite the darkness, Dipper could see the world lose colour as he walked through the undergrowth. 

“Really? Can I not have a few hours of peace?” Dipper griped tiredly, unimpressed by the appearance of Bill at his side.

“Calm down kid, I just forgot to tell you something. Meet me under the eyes, midday tomorrow. Fail to turn up at your own peril.” The demon was already flickering out of existence, giggling insanely, as Dipper processed what he had been told. “See you, Pine Tree -”

Wringing his hands, Dipper cried out. “Wait! What do you mean, ‘eyes?’”

Bill rolled his eye. “Just follow the tour trail, kid. You’ll see what I mean when you get there. Now, you better not leave Shooting Star waiting!”

And with that, the dream demon was gone.

Surprised at the ease with which the ordeal was over, the boy huffed into the muggy night air and tromped over the dirt and mosses of the forest, listening out for the telltale sounds of the migration. Shadows peered and loomed from all directions; Dipper made no effort to disperse the fear that clung to his chest, knowing that pressing on regardless was the only way to navigate the forest safely at that time of night. Skitters and snuffles met his ears in equal measure as he disturbed a variety of nocturnal wild animals, occasionally feeling something catch his feet and run away.

A strange whistling became audible from some distant part of the forest, and Dipper re-adjusted his path to go towards it. Harmonies built up over the first note, shifting and pitching unnaturally, the odd chirrup and cry dancing up noticeably over the others. 

Fairy song was beautiful in a twisted, disconsolate kind of way. It accompanied their travels across the paranormal hotspots of the globe, and this night was the night that they shifted their lives once more. Always transient, always uncertain, Dipper was saddened by them and envied their freedom in equal measure. What he would give for a life like that…

Bursting into a clearing, three figures turned to stare.

“Dipper!” His twin ran across the high grasses and grasped for his arm blindly, yanking him up to see the cloud of glimmering creatures slowly ascending from the ground. “You’re just in time. We managed to communicate for them to wait - who knew Grunkle Stan’s sweet talking extended to fairies! - and now we can all see it together.”

The excitement in her voice made his heart lurch painfully, wishing (not for the first time) that she didn’t always sound so _scared_ around him. “Thank you,” he whispered, clasping her hand in his. “I really appreciate it.”

Both Ford and Stan shifted to meet their grand niece and nephew as they shifted easily through the long grass. “Nice to see you made it, Dipper.” Stan’s voice was uncharacteristically heavy, the lights of the glowing fairies reflected in his glasses and effectively hiding his eyes. Secretly a sap, Grunkle Stan. Not that anyone would ever dare to say that.

Dipper looked to Ford.

His other grand uncle smiled wanly and clasped a hand to the boy’s back, allowing a lurching sense of comfort to slip between them. “Yes, good to see you here, Dipper. Always a sight worth seeing, the migration. Especially with others.” 

“Yeah.” By now, the singing was too loud to ignore, permeating the atmosphere steadily and leading the family to crush further together. 

Several hundred unique lights took to the skies in a rush, wings flapping visibly, bags held to chests and each one accounted for. The leader, a smudge of blue against the inky black, took to the west, drawing a line of fairies along with them, all the while humming that initial underlying note. Once they were all flying, they picked up speed rapidly and began to disappear over the tops of the trees.

Dipper looked to Mabel, who was watching in enraptured awe. Face brightened by the winking white lights of the supernatural beings, she looked a little unreal herself, brown hair shimmering softly. Even the normally staunch figures of Ford and Stan seemed to have mellowed.

“I do get your obsession with the supernatural, brother.”

Stan’s whisper was met with a look of astonishment from Ford. Flushing, the man turned his head aside and huffed. “What, it’s nice sometimes! Don’t read too much into it.”

“This is ridiculous,” Mabel laughed breathlessly, watching the last of the fairies shift upwards and touch the treetops. “What they say about fairy dust and positive powers must be true. I’ve never seen Ford and Stan so amicable. Maybe this is what they used to be like.”

Ford had rested one arm on Stan’s shoulder, gaze trained firmly on the skies above, quiet smile pasted easily over his features. It was a look mirrored by the man next to him.

It was truly rare to have everyone happy and unified like this. Dipper couldn’t help but have his thoughts stray to the meeting that had occurred only short hours ago, and how on the earth he was meant to deal with all of the new expectations and potential problems that had been thrust at him.

Like the fact that he was effectively betraying them all.

That was not a thought that he massively wanted to entertain, and knowing his mindset in the calm and the quiet, it would eat away at him until he shifted his focus somewhere else. Evident as it was that his family wanted to stay, he needed to get back home.

“We ought to get going.” Dipper’s words were met with a disgruntled huff from his twin (who was plainly enjoying the sudden and obviously temporary peace). “I locked up the shack when I left but - you know this town, is anything really safe?” The effect of the fairies was gradually wearing off, and the teen found himself startlingly alert. Maybe the same was true for the rest of them, as Ford’s hand had moved back to his side and he was now rolling his shoulders back in exhaustion.

“Dipper is correct. We should get out of the woods as soon as possible, especially at the witching hour.”

Thankful for the distraction, Dipper began to lead Mabel by the hand back through the trees, navigating by ear. He knew that the sounds of the town lay some way off from the shack, so he followed them loosely and relied on the occasional help of his Grunkle to keep them in vaguely the right direction. Only when he could see the artificial lights of the area winking through the trees did he slow. 

He felt Mabel squeeze his hand furiously, and turned round. “What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing? They were doing so well back there. Can you not just appreciate something for five minutes, Dipper?” She sounded so genuinely disappointed.

“Apparently not,” he huffed. “Sorry, Mabel.”

“Sure.” His twin parted her hand from his, pushing her sleeves down until only the tips of her fingers were visible. “Whatever.”

***

“Good morning, Dipper. How are you feeling?”

Having only caught an hour or so of sleep on top of his nap the day before, Dipper was trying his best not to pass out into his sizeable mug of coffee and remember whether he had taken his pills that day. He was failing spectacularly on both counts. Mabel had still yet to rise from bed, both tired from the day before and frustrated with her twin. How Ford and Stan were functioning normally, he had absolutely no idea.

“Ugh.” That seemed to sum it up pretty aptly.

He felt the pressure of a hand lift from his shoulder, and a quiet hum in response. “Bad day. That positive streak did seem a bit too good to be true. Well, I shan’t bother you.” Ford stopped on his way out of the kitchen to mutter pointedly to Stan, glancing back at Dipper. Stan nodded with a tender smile, seating himself across the table.

“‘Morning kiddo. Ford says it’s a bad one today. That so?” He paused as the teen nodded. “Ah. No worries, you’re not down to work today anyhow. Hopefully you’ll be back on track tomorrow. Tourists aren’t gonna scam themselves!” Cackling wickedly, he grabbed a sizeable pile of toast from the rack, lathing each piece with marmalade and smacking his lips.

Dipper couldn’t help but crack a grin at that one. 

Stan, always the antithesis of his brother, had grown on Dipper hugely over the past few years. After realising his tough exterior was just a well built facade, he could see very clearly that Stan absolutely adored Mabel and himself; he appreciated the support of his Grunkle beyond any that his parents had offered. Maybe it was because he treated Dipper like a person rather than a fragile object. On good days, he made the most of using the kid to further his profits, but on the bad days, he made his grand nephew laugh like nobody else could. 

Somewhat like Mabel, Stan had an infectious optimism about things that extended to practically anyone other than himself. 

It hurt both of the younger twins to know the low esteem that their beloved Grunkle held himself in, and they fought to show the better side of him as much as possible, singing his praises to their parents and the tourists at the shack alike. Whether it was an impromptu hug, a day off, or a casual reminder to keep his head up, Stan just knew what to do.

Dipper grabbed a slice of toast himself, coating it liberally and making a show of eating it as horribly as he could, an act that made his Grunkle huff in amusement. “Stupid kid.” 

It warmed his heart. 

Eventually excusing himself (‘Don’t you hide away too much, kid!’), Dipper snagged his favourite blue fleece from the coat rack and dashed up the stairs, confused by the sight of his hat lying in wait on his bed. His shoes were lying under the table in the same place that he had kicked them off to the night before. Appropriately clothed, he tried to remember what exactly Bill had said the day prior. Meet at midday?

Regardless, he didn’t want to test his luck. Shoving the third journal under his fleece, Dipper’s hand hovered above the bottle and hesitated. There was always the chance that he could ask the demon about it… his hand grasped at the lid and shoved the small tube into his pocket. 

Casting one last glance at Mabel’s prone form, he unlocked the latch on the window and climbed out, shutting it firmly and slipping with ease down from the overhanging ledge.

Being forbidden to go out into the forest alone at 13, Dipper had learned how to sneak out very effectively. It wasn’t really necessary anymore, but if the Stans knew that he was planning to go for a walk on a bad day, then they would definitely try to prevent it. Easier to slip out unnoticed and avoid potential conflict.

He traced the tour path uncertainly.

It was too early for any creatures to really be awake, as those that were nocturnal had just slipped away to find rest and those that were diurnal were only just starting to roam. As such, fewer shadows loomed and peered; it made Dipper slightly more uncomfortable, feeling bizarrely safe in what he knew to be a perilous place. Following the footprints of the tourists of days before, he crooked a smile.

Embedded in the ground was a fork, glinting gently in the morning light. He’d stomped the damn thing into the forest floor a few years past, on a particularly unhappy afternoon, and it was still there on the trail. At first that had annoyed him, but now it served as a funny reminder of how much better he was doing.

Continuing on, Dipper began to worry that he’d never find the place that Bill had told him to go to. Nowhere on this trip was there anything that would fill the vague description that he had been given, and as he passed the manotaur site from yesterday, he heaved a sigh - 

Oh.

Hundreds of unblinking stares considered the boy simultaneously, unblinking and objectively ghastly to witness.  
The eyes.

How had he forgotten? 

Slipping into his mind with ease, his memories relayed a dozen or more tourist trips, always seeing the carvings as though for the first time and thinking of that interminable dream demon. Mabel or Stan fighting to regain their hold over the tourists. Walking away and feeling the memory slowly drip into nonexistence…

“How do you like my eyes, Pine Tree?”

The grey lurched in.

“It’s only 10! I had no idea you were so eager to see me! I’m touched, kid, I really am.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Cipher. I don’t have anything to do today, and you don’t seem like the forgiving type. From experience.”

Harrumphing, the demon patted Dipper on the shoulder, floating to rest in the air in front of him. Bill looked the same as ever, slightly malicious and doubtlessly plotting something malevolent behind that somewhat goofy facade. One black arm extended to reach the abused trees, stroking the lines fondly. 

“How did you… how did you do this?” 

At first, Dipper thought that Bill hadn’t heard his question, for he continued to trace the eyes noiselessly. “Deals are very easy to make,” the demon blurted suddenly, snatching his hand back with the whirr of a tape measure. “I just needed somebody desperate and a knife.”

That made sense. “Yeah but… why? And how the _hell_ did they climb up there?” The last question was more of a mystified mutter.

“Territory, Pine Tree! Demons gotta claim their territory. I like to get a good look at the morons that Shooting Star and Fez entertain. Really, you’re a genius in comparison to a lot of them, and you got tied into a deal with _me._ ” Bill cackled. “Ah, that’s still hysterical. Pines! Does your family attract trouble, or what?”

Dipper growled. “You planned this stuff, including what you did to Grunkle Ford. It’s more like _you_ refuse to leave _us_ alone.”

“Standing up for Sixer! Feeling guilty are we? That’s adorable.” The demon chucked Dipper under the chin, before summoning an overlarge clock. “Time is ticking though, kid! We need to walk quite a way to get to where we need to be, and this needs to get done today.” Starting to melt, the clock gave a loud _TICK TOCK_ and promptly disappeared.

Deciding it was inevitable, the teen pulled his fleece more tightly around his person in preparation and felt the lid of a bottle dig into his thigh. Right, he’d been meaning to ask about that… Could he depend on Bill with something as important as this? It could suffice as a trust exercise, he supposed, and trust (of some description) was one thing he definitely needed to have in Bill if he was going to survive this holiday.

“Oh! Before we go…” Dipper pulled his medication out of his pocket, rattling it needlessly. “I don’t know why I’m foolish enough to ask you about this, but could you tell me if I actually took these today? I’d rather not miss a dose.”

The dream demon hummed. “It’s just one day, Pine Tree.”

“Yeah, but I promised Mabel. I swore I’d never miss one.” He could feel the eye trained on him widen and heard a slight snicker. “It’s a twin thing. I don’t like to break my promises to her.”

“Sure thing, kid. For Shooting Star, I guess. Hold on a moment.”

Dipper could feel something rummaging around in his mind (and it wasn’t a particularly enjoyable feeling. It reminded the teen of having a head cold) and found himself running through his memories at high speed. Waking up, rubbing his face, pulling on some clothes, looking at Mabel, walking out…

“Nope! You forgot.” 

Thrown back into the present moment, Dipper shook his head. “Right, thanks. Now what do you want in return? I know demons don’t really do ‘favours’.” He tacked on the last sentence at the coy look Bill had taken on. God, he was such an asshole.

“Quick as ever, kid. Lemme take a look at those things.” 

Frowning, Dipper passed them over. “Is that all?” It seemed awfully tame.

Bill merely waved a disinterested hand, twisting the cylinder over in the other. “I have plenty of time to get whatever I want out of you, Pine Tree. Wow, humans aren’t that dumb - these might actually work!”

“Of course they work!” Dipper grabbed the tube back, removing two with an agitated glare at the triangle. “I wouldn’t bother taking them otherwise.”

A nasty giggle slipped out, but Bill made no other argument, watching passively as the boy completed his daily ritual. The cap was shoved harshly on. “Right. Now, what horrible thing do you have planned that I will invariably say no to?”

“Flower picking!”

Dipper blinked. He couldn’t have heard that right. “... I can’t tell if you actually just said what I think you did or if I’m going insane.” It could be the latter. 

He received a bark of laughter in response. “Humans! So over the top. Yes, Pine Tree, flower picking - the reasons will become obvious later, alright?” The teen couldn’t help but feel that Bill was being a bit of a hypocrite calling humans over the top when the demon was such a hopeless drama queen. He decided not to comment on it, tripping over the odd root or two as they drifted with ease through the forest, leaving the eyes behind. 

Thankfully, he didn’t forget about them this time, although it took a concerted effort. 

“Hey. Hey. Pine Tree. _Pine Tree_.” A small black hand snapped in his face, effectively pulling Dipper out of his focus and making him frown. The memory seemed to have settled. “God, you don’t half space out, kid. You need to listen to this bit. You wanna know what I’ve got planned for you, right?”

“Yes! Yes.” Ew. That came out far more desperate than Dipper would have liked. “Hopefully nothing too illegal. Please tell me it's not illegal.”

He craned his neck to see Bill’s face, unsurprised by the slight annoyance radiating from his eye. How the triangle managed to be so expressive with only the one was beyond him. “Humans. All the same. ‘I don’t want to murder!’, ‘But that’s my mom you’ve kidnapped’, ‘You can’t kill something with an apple corer!?’ Never met a species as high-strung as yours, or as unimaginative. A majority of mortal beings from other planets are fairly casual about death.”

Seeing the mortification on the boy’s face, the demon giggled unpleasantly. “Ah, to be moral. Don’t worry, Pine Tree, you aren’t going to be doing anything like that.” He paused. “Probably.”

Much as he tried to find out more, the triangle remained resolutely silent in the face of Dipper’s questions, until they reached an open clearing. Bristling with a vast variety of plants, the boy doubted he’d ever seen such an incredible amount of diversity so densely packed before - and were he not travelling in the Mindscape, it would probably have been an incredible sight. In monochrome… a lot of that was lost.

“This is it!” The demon floated forward and upwards, throwing up his cane and catching it with a flourish. “All the plants a necromancer could want, and that Fordsy would faint over.”

Dipper processed what he had just heard. “Wait. Necromancer?”

“So you _do_ have the capacity to listen! I was starting to worry.” Bill lengthened his arm and patted the teen’s hat condescendingly, earning himself a dark scowl in response. “Necromancy it is, Pine Tree! Not only that branch of magic, either! You’re gonna be a fully fledged sorcerer when I’m done with you, kid.” Another dark giggle. “Take that to mean what you want. Now, pick a bit of everything. It doesn’t hurt to be over prepared.”

Hundreds of thoughts and fears were running rampant in Dipper’s head, and he struggled to cling to a single one of them. Eventually, he managed to whittle them down to a few.  
“No.” The teen tried to sound convicted, voice wobbling despite his efforts. “No, I’m not doing this. I don’t care what you do - I’m not helping you with your bloody - dark magic or whatever. I have been through enough shit in my life.” 

Bad move.

Before he could cry out, a bundle of material had been grasped in a small black hand, demon hauling the teenager over to glare at him furiously. The edges of his body were lined with red, eye turning black. “ _Pardon?_ ”

“I said… I said no.” Any confidence was gone, now. 

“Do you not know what the nature of our deal is, Pine Tree? Do you _really_ want back out of a deal with _me_? I can assure you, kid, out of all the mistakes you could make, that would be one _cataclysmic_ mistake.”

Christ, not another anxiety attack. “I mean - I didn’t -”

His words were cut off by a heavy sigh, and even though Bill began to return to his normal state, Dipper could feel the fury in his tone alongside the bare minimum of self control.

“Okay, listen to me, Pine Tree. You’re in my realm right now. I can do whatever the hell I see fit, and I can assure you, none of it will be pleasant. You’d better get used to the idea of working for me pretty damn soon; you’d also better drop the whole ‘moral’ thing you’ve got going. It’s so unnecessarily _human._ Besides which, I’ve watched you grow up.” Bill pulled tightly on Dipper’s collar, yanking him up from the floor and making the boy writhe in terror. “You’re pretty selfish, really. Just like _Sixer_ , just like _Shooting Star_ , just like _me._ It’s a testament to Fez that I can’t add him to that list.”

Suddenly, the hand released him. Dipper fell to the floor, gasping, counting in his head as he measured his breathing. 

“Now _get on with it._ ”

Funnily enough, Dipper got on with it.

Using his bare hands, he began to uproot plants with precision, not knowing how important each component would be. At some point, Bill shoved Dipper out of the Mindscape, colour winking back in suddenly and blinding the boy. He blinked in agony and swore, listening to a few cackles at his expense before the demon was gone completely. Stall he did not; doubtlessly Cipher was still watching him work, and it would be foolish to hope that he may have better things to do. From the sounds of it, this was a very important part of Bill’s overarching plan… whatever that may be.

That was one thing that Dipper really, really did not want to think about. Chances were that he would be contributing to something unbelievably awful and unforgivable. It was frustrating, to be so in the dark. In the dark, picking _flowers_ with excessive amounts of thorns, and aiding the machinations of a glorified triangle.

Then again, maybe it would make his life easier to follow blindly. Ignorance is bliss, and all that jazz.

Sucking at the bloodied areas on his palms, Dipper found that his pile of herbs was growing to be quite significant, making him smile with an odd sting of pride. Explaining away the large volume of cuts would be a breeze. He’d returned to the shack with far worse, and honestly, it wasn’t as though Ford didn’t return from his own excursions looking unnaturally worn. On at least one occasion the blood oozing from a cut on his shoulder had almost prompted Stan to call for an ambulance.

Almost. 

Dipper fell back to sit on his heels, squinting at something small and black situated below the ridge at the base of his palm that he had noticed while nursing his wounds. Rubbing at it seemed to do nothing - not a fleck of grime, then. Was it…? Surely not.

“Bill.” The world around him flickered darkly. “What’s this?”

“You noticed! How observant of you, Pine Tree. Don’t worry about it. It’s just a basic claim.” Bill clutched his cane to his chest at the sight of the teen staring imploringly up at him, the events of earlier apparently forgotten. “You’re even kneeling! Why, I never dreamt -” The demon wiped away a nonexistent tear. 

Dipper was horribly confused. It seemed to be a running theme, although why he expected any semblance of normalcy from the dream demon, he didn’t know. “What?”

“No need to sound so exasperated, kid. Demonic etiquette is very complex. The triangle on your arm there is my way of telling any supernatural folks that you’re working for me, although it’s a loose deal. As for kneeling…” He gave an unreadably blank stare. “Let’s just say that it’s quite a meaningful gesture.”

“I didn’t mean to be,” Dipper grumbled under his breath. Bill didn’t seem to hear, floating down to riffle through the pile of leaves and flowers with a satisfied hum. 

Pulling out a rose, the demon stuck it (thorns and all) behind the boy’s ear, earning a cry of pain for his efforts. “Awh, Pine Tree, don’t you look a picture!” His eye briefly turned into a lens, snapping an image. A polaroid spewed out from the crack along the top of his layer of bricks, which he yanked out, shook, and considered momentarily. “Not my best work, but it will have to do. Needs more blood.” 

“You’re insane.” An obvious statement, perhaps, but it felt necessary. “Can I finish this, please?”

“Geez kid, lighten up. You’ll get nowhere with that kind of attitude.” Even so, Bill left him alone to work and wince at the stinging pains. It took the teen a full fifteen minutes to remember the flower beside his skull. When he removed it, the thorns were stained with red. The nervous dab at his ear revealed a similarly congealed but ultimately non-threatening amount of blood.

Dipper hated Bill so much. Were the situation less convoluted, he’d punch the demon in the eye.

By the time the demon called for the teen to stop, darkness was already gathering in the skies above. Dipper was starving (having snacked only on the odd cereal bar he had on his person), exhausted, and intensely frustrated with just about everything. On more than one occasion he’d had to take a toilet break, but of course, being in the forest - well. Bill had jokingly offered to conjure up a Mindscape restroom and earned himself a glower that suggested that he go jump off a cliff.

Not that the demon could actually do that, but whatever. It was the basic feeling that mattered.

“That’s enough, kid.” Bill had caught the slumped form of Dipper in his arms, looking around uncertainly. “Whoa. You really went all out, huh? I’ll keep a hold of these.” Snapping his fingers, the pile of plants burned up and were whisked away somewhere.

Dipper did not respond. 

“You… are you okay, Pine Tree? You seem pretty out of it. I mean, I know I said to get on with it, but you didn’t have to push yourself that much.” 

Dipper laughed bitterly, and Bill blinked.

“Figured you wouldn’t be very merciful if I didn’t deliver correctly. Also, kinda wanna murder you right now. Just enjoying the highs of life.” Even if he felt like he was dying, he still had his sass. That was one thing that Dipper would retain so long as he had some semblance of control over his life. 

Bill pressed one cold digit to the boy’s forehead, huffing slightly as he channeled a slow drip of his energy into the human. “I know I’m an insane asshole hellbent on world domination, destruction, whatever, but even I have some kind of standards, Pine Tree. I wouldn’t work you to death. Besides that being unbelievably counter-productive and shortsighted, I treat my helpers pretty well, if they’ll let me. Always surprising how unwilling humans are.”

“Does ‘let me’ include swearing undying fealty, or something?” 

“Or something,” the demon quipped, although he didn’t continue that line of thought any longer. “You’d better be getting back, kid. I expect to see you under the eyes in two days, 10 o'clock on the dot. We’ve got a lot to get through. Until then, I have deals to make, lives to ruin, the usual.” Laughing wildly, Bill propped Dipper up and slowly faded away, making the small triangle on his wrist sting ever so slightly. “Laters, Pine Tree!”

“Later, Bill.” Bitter tone aside, Dipper was grateful for the pick-me-up, and he started on his journey back with remarkable zeal. It petered out to a calm diligence about half way, and the teen wondered how on the earth he managed to make this journey with such ease when he was twelve. The darkness bit at him gingerly, the carved eyes peering out unblinkingly as he joined the trail again. It was reassuring to be able to remember them.

Tripping uncertainly out of the trees, Dipper could see the lights of the shack - all on, surprisingly. Even as he walked up to the porch (uncertainty growing), the door swung open to reveal all three of the shack’s residents waiting for him.

“DIPPER!”

Mabel threw herself into his arms, face blotchy from crying, and he peered at his twin, perplexed. Both his Grunkles were stood in the doorway, neither looking particularly impressed; Stan’s hair was ruffled as though he had been running his fingers through it repeatedly. Ford held little expression of any kind. 

“I - you disappeared - and they said it was a bad day - and I was angry with you and I _know_ how you get with this stuff when - and then your bottle was gone too, and I just -”

It took a moment for Dipper to connect all the dots in his mind, grimacing when he did. “I am so, so sorry, Mabel. I didn’t even think what that looked like - I just couldn’t remember if I’d taken them that morning so I took them with me in case it came back to me. It wasn’t… I’m not that bad.” A twinge of disappointment ran through him at the thought. They thought of him like that?

“And had you?” Ford was the one who spoke, voice oddly stiff.

“Forgotten?” Dipper gulped. “Yeah.”

Before Ford could chastise him, Stan spoke up, sounding desperately relieved. “Well, that’s that sorted out. The kid’s okay, just like I said. He’s not gonna go do something stupid, are you, Dipper?” The vague ‘of course not’ was response enough. “Good. Let’s get inside and watch something inane. Ducktective, anybody?”

Mabel gave a teary cheer and removed her arms from her brother’s waist, swiping at her eyes with her sleeves. 

Just as Dipper was about to make his way in, Stan held him back, expression unreadable. Panicking for a moment, the teen found himself swept into a choking hug, tension slowly falling away from his Grunkle’s shoulders. “Don’t you _ever_ scare me like that again.” It was a definite command. “You damn near killed me there, kid. Ford too, although he’d never admit it. For the love of god - don’t do that again.”

“I won’t.” When Stan held him at arm's length and glared, Dipper’s self-righteousness grew. “I won’t! I didn’t know… I haven’t been that low in a long time.”

Sock Opera… The days and months following had not been fun. Still, how was a twelve year old child expected to deal with being possessed, and then said possessed self damn near killing his twin? 

“I know. We know. We trust you kid, I swear! It’s just pulling stunts like this isn’t a very good sign.” He squeezed Dipper’s shoulder. “You can’t expect us not to worry about you, ya know. It’s what family _do._ ” 

The teen sensed that Stan was out of supportive things to say - not really the sappy kind, his Grunkle - so he merely made a vague sound of agreement and they stepped into the warm yellow glow of the shack, overwhelmed by the scent of wooden walls. Judging by the sounds of screeching from Mabel, and the loud swearing of Ford, something absolutely awful was happening on the TV. For all the stoic man had lamented Stan’s love of the children’s show, he certainly took the plot very seriously.

Dipper grinned weakly. Family. How he loved them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Bill is an asshole. Also, 6000 words? What's going on here!?
> 
> SONG: 'This Summer' by Maroon 5 (warning - explicit language)


	4. In Retrospect

Dipper picked with practiced disinterest at the Mystery Shack shirt hanging off his shoulders. 

Since he'd been working at the till, Dipper had received no less than 36 complaints about his attitude or attire, with three specifically mentioning that ‘ungodly hat’. True, his cap had seen a lot of wear and tear in the past, and was possibly nearing grey more than white, but that was just damn _rude_. He'd told those people to get stuffed, only in a much much more impolite manner.

Those people then asked for his manager.

Stan had, as such, banned Dipper from wearing his pine tree hat while working and had issued him a blue Mystery Shack shirt, much like the one Soos wore. The handyman had been enthralled by this (‘Dude. We look the _same_.’) and the teen… Not so much. 

“They never had a problem with me before!” He had hammered long and hard on Stan's door, earning a passing glare from a frantic Ford.

“Yeah, and before you were cute! You're fourteen, kid. You're fourteen, and you're a guy, _and_ you're a Pines. The world basically hates you.”

Stan's words of wisdom would probably have been better appreciated had they not come from the opposite side of a door, but a year on they still rang true. Even the little ‘Beware of Dog’ sign that his Grunkle put up as a joke during his shifts didn't deter the more enthused customers, although it did get a few laughs here and there. It seemed incredibly foolish to expect a mentally ill teenager to interact with customers but he had to help earn his keep somehow.

His schedule had been vastly reduced anyway. It was fine.

“Welcome to the Mystery Shack, where we put the ‘fun’ in ‘no refunds!’” How many times had he said that today? Too many. A snow globe was passed through the scanner, lazily. “That'll be $8.59 with tax, ma'am.”

The parka-clad tourist hummed quietly, pulling out her wallet and forking out a selection of notes. “Say,” her voice was nasal and grating, and reminded Dipper of Bill. “Do you know whether they have any of those Pine hats? The blue ones? I've been here before but I didn't have the money, and now they seem to be gone.”

Dipper's face flushed heavily.

He knew exactly where all the hats had gone (although he sent the woman on her way without telling her that) - in a box underneath his bed, so that he could always have a replacement. Thank goodness Stan hadn’t noticed the slow drip of clothing making its way from the shop to the attic. He’d probably make Dipper pay for it all.

A majority of the shop was quiet, as Mr Mystery himself was out on a tour and Mabel had a day off. It gave Dipper the time to reflect on the past few days, and the inordinate number of triangles all over the shop. Although, he did that all the time, and it wasn’t the best way to pass the hours. When had he last had time to properly consider an event in his life? 

Honestly, he'd been so caught up with the whole ‘serving a horrible demon’ thing that he'd barely had the time to sit down and _think_ about it. 

“Uhm, excuse me?” 

God, what was it about tourists and grating voices? 

“Yeah, you at the till, could you reach this for me?”

The boy was staring at him plaintively, small blue eyes a shock against his pale face and curled black hair. He couldn't be older than 7. Nodding, Dipper stepped out from behind the till and balanced on tiptoe, trying to reach for the masks and failing miserably. Obviously, the child realized this, for he sighed loudly and threw an expressive arm to his side. “Forget it, mister. I'll get something else.”

Suitably ashamed, the teen resumed his position at the desk and waited for Stan to return. His mind wandered.

He didn’t really know what to make of yesterday. Like, at all. Wincing at the ghost pains behind his ear, Dipper raised a hand to scratch at the small scabs but thought better of it, not wanting to agitate them further. What had the rose meant? Aside from pointing out ever further just how much of a deranged asshole Bill was, it had also seemed a touch... fond.

Bill was fond of screwing about with him. That was hardly a revelation, and Dipper sighed in exasperation as he opened and closed the till with a succession of ‘ping’s.

What did he even really want? Okay, that wasn’t a proper line of thought either. For whatever reason, Bill wanted a ‘necromancer’, a concept that hadn’t come up at all during the initial ‘Bipper’ episode and honestly seemed a little off. Dipper wasn’t really acquainted with magic in the way that he was the supernatural. Honestly, he’d thought that magic was one of those gaps in the picture. Aside from summonings, he’s thought it nonexistent; the Journals had never really mentioned it in reference to human practitioners. Fairies? Sure. 

Humans? No. 

If humans could learn magic, then Ford would be carrying every kind of herb and foliage that he possibly could. Odd, was what Dipper would call it, that a major thing like this could be so entirely skipped over in the research of such a fastidious man. 

But he digressed. 

It was really the repercussions he needed to think about, surely? Oddly, he wasn’t much fazed by the evil triangle demon so much as he was the idea of having to give up so much of his holiday - school took so much out of him throughout the year, listening to jibes about pills, and being insane, and… other things. Which may not have been untrue, technically, but he didn’t particularly appreciate the comments or the drawings. Did they have no concept of standards? Dipper wasn’t attracted to every single damn male that he saw... 

Hum. Was Bill Cipher male?

A better question would be: do triangles have a concept of gender? The answer: probably not. The image of the demon in a bizarre ‘frat boy’ persona made Dipper give a bark of laughter, and the singular female customer left in a hurry.

Entirely unrepentant, the boy drummed his fingers on the desk and considered that he really should not be dumbing down the potential damage of a _friggin’ demon_ , but it was almost hard not to. He wasn’t the same child that he used to be. The warnings and the story of Ford’s past had been diluted with the years that had passed since, losing their edge as Dipper found himself increasingly disinterested. When he was twelve, the danger of the situation had seemed romantic, in a way - it had sparked his imagination with a thrill of fear and excitement that it was probably very odd to feel. No word really lent itself to its description. Some kind of perverse thrill, maybe?

Either way, it would have been a lie for him to say that he didn’t appreciate Bill in some way. Despite the awful nightmares, the depression, the flashbacks, it gave him some kind of interest to his existence.

Which was probably an extremely unhealthy view to have.

Dipper was entirely used to being unhealthy, so he didn’t allow it to faze him as his eyes slipped over the various triangular items stashed around the shop. Why _did_ they still have those? Ford most definitely knew that Bill could see through images of himself - or at least, you would think that he did, given the way that the Grunkle grew embarrassed and uncomfortable under any faux one-eyed gaze. He’d destroyed a majority of the golden effigies (without anybody saying anything, but everybody somewhat irked for his actions past), save for one that Dipper had snuck away and kept.

For old times’ sake. His twelve year old self had liked how well made they were, and besides, it was a waste to just melt them down or - whatever his Grunkle had done to them, he didn’t exactly know. It was sitting solitarily in the back of his cupboard, privy only to the happenings of his moth-eaten clothing.

Would Bill bother to look at that? The teen somehow didn’t doubt that he would, bizarre demon that he was. If anyone could find entertainment in shirts, it would be him. 

Or Mabel.

God, _Mabel_. How on the earth was he supposed to tell Mabel?

In his heart, he knew that he wouldn’t. Not until he was forced to, not until his hand was forced, and that internal betrayal was already consuming him. Bill would not want Shooting Star to be in the know, because she would doubtlessly get in the way and try to put a stop to it, possibly in a manner that could impede on their deal. Had he promised not to hurt them? Dipper wracked his brain, but he found he simply could not remember. Better not to risk it, in any case. She would just have to work it out with time. 

Work it out, and then hopefully not call him a traitor for whatever awful plans he would facilitate. Dipper groaned. 

Before he could continue on his internal tirade, the shop door slammed open, allowing a veritable flood of tourists in. Stan cast him a warning glance as he stepped in, switching it immediately for the grin of a man who was about to make a lot of money in a short amount of time. Pulling himself up to look businesslike, Dipper gave a wary smile. 

Time to get to work, he supposed.

****

“Thanks for spending your hard-earned cash! Please do come again!”

Was it possible for a person to tune out completely? To get so entirely introspective that they could stop existing? To an exhausted Dipper, this sounded like an excellent idea. Perhaps this hadn’t been an ‘okay’ day after all. Thankfully, the last of the customers had filtered through the door, leaving him alone in the company of his wily Grunkle. 

“You okay there, kid? You’re looking pretty beat.” Stan removed the fez from his head and brushed the dust from it, leaning his cane against the wall. “Tell you what - we made a mint from that lot. I’ll close up early for today.”

Nodding gratefully, Dipper took his leave, grabbing a can of Pitt Cola from the fridge and taking a seat at the kitchen table. Violent swearing was clearly audible from Ford outside (who was working on a new invention) and he smiled slightly; it was always entertaining to watch the slow creation of a machine. Seeing the normally overtly composed man run or angrily pour cold water over a burn had absolutely nothing to do with how funny it was.

Nothing whatsoever.

Suddenly wincing, Dipper felt his arm burn and he dropped the can from where it had been hovering around his mouth. It bounced off the table and left a large pool of sticky ooze spreading slowly across, threatening to drip down onto his jeans. He swore, and ran to grab some paper towels to mop up the mess, muttering murderously. The damn stuff was so syrupy when it got onto anything, leaving a stubborn smear of darker brown on the tabletop. Nothing better could be done. Depositing the sopping towels in the bin, the teen wondered why that had even happened. Sure, he was clumsy, yet even he didn’t have a tendency to throw drinks down himself when sat perfectly innocently at the table.

Looking down at his wrist (still aching slightly), he saw a list of written instructions. Dipper blinked at it. It was quite obviously Bill’s doing, scratchy lines standing out starkly on his pale skin. There wasn’t a lowercase letter in sight. How long had he been able to do that for? The list seemed to comprise of simple components, like candles and chalks, and the odd gemstone (which he didn’t know what to make of at all.) Running out of the kitchen and skipping up the stairs two at a time, he burst into his room and thought.

Likely, he wouldn’t find anything he needed up here. There was somewhere else he could look, though, and as he swapped out his work shirt for his favourite shirt and fleece he planned out how to get the items on his list, hoping distractedly that it would actually go away once he did.

While he was in his room, though, he took a quick peek beneath a floorboard and hummed in approval to see the contents were still there and undisturbed. Good. 

Downstairs, he heard the door slam and Mabel loudly announce her arrival, prompting a collection of greetings from Soos, Stan and Ford (although Ford’s seemed far more muffled; he was still outside, evidently). A flicker of an idea came to him, and he sat in wait on the bed as his sister thudded unceremoniously up the stairs, slamming the door open. Somehow, she was wearing a set of fairy lights as a hair adornment without it looking completely insane, giggling at Stan’s loud admonishments.

She paused in the doorway.

“Hey.” Dipper gave an awkward wave, noting the uncertain flicker of his twin’s eyes. “Uh. Have fun?”

“Yeah, ‘course…” Mabel squinted distrustfully, twirling a thin cord around her index finger and humming. “Bro-bro, what are you doing? You’re just… sitting there?”

Naturally, the teen knew her unspoken implication, and he flinched slightly. What was it with everyone doubting him at the moment? He was simply sitting and resting, not lying and facing the wall for hours on end, which he knew was the connection that Mabel had made. When he thought on it, that kind of behaviour had stopped years ago. Really must have bothered her, if that was what her mind jumped to at any kind of inactivity. Yesterday evening had been strained, all quarrels forgotten, but a number of fears resurfacing on the faces of his family members.

He could ease that.

“I was thinking, and I have an idea. Something for us to do. You can’t tell the Grunkles, though - Mystery Twins?” Unconsciously, his hand stretched out, making him wince internally at the ease with which he recalled the other day. 

“Is it fun?” Dipper nodded, pulling the sleeve of his shirt up a little with his knee.

Elated, Mabel didn’t notice, taking his hand and shaking it vibrantly.

“Lemme dump these, and then we can totally go! Although,” she tapped her nose and gave a knowing look. “I should probably find out what exactly I’m agreeing to, first.”

Heaving a breath, Dipper couldn’t help the slightly wicked grin that blossomed on his face, withholding a chuckle. This was probably extremely inadvisable on so many levels. If they got caught down there… it wouldn’t be particularly pretty. 

“Well,” he mumbled. “How would you feel about going and stealing from Ford?”

****

The stuttering creaks and groans of the elevator seemed to echo through the bodies of the twins, neither speaking for the anticipation of seeing Ford’s study again. 

Since the episode with the mind machine and everything that followed, Dipper had been understandably loathe to go back in the room, not wanting to confront the ugly truth about the past of the Mystery Shack and the continuing curse of the Pines family for doing the unimaginably stupid. Mabel had only been in once, to retrieve a book on ‘intergalactic knitting’ (whatever the hell that was) and as such was quite excited to see the changes.

Dipper glanced over at his sister.

Much to his surprise, she was oddly on board with this, saying that it felt like a ‘super secret mission!’ and that she wanted to take a look too. It was evident that she missed their excursions of the past - fighting monsters together, finding artifacts, discovering the secrets of the town - it was a pastime that he’d sort of forgotten amidst the irritating thing that was ‘life’.

She offered him a bright smile and his heart dropped. Poor Mabel. His messed up brain had managed to distance them, too, and even though that wasn’t his fault it sure did feel that way most of the time. They both deserved better. Especially her.

Creaking to a stuttering halt, the elevator dispensed the pair outside the ornate door of the study. For whatever reason, it was entirely unlocked - something that Dipper had noticed the first time he had visited, and which seemed kinda presumptuous on the part of his Grunkle. Having two overly curious teenagers around the shack really ought to inspire some sense of wariness in a person. Internally, the boy thanked the stars that the invention was taking so long to perfect.

He twisted the doorknob and quietly pushed the door to, revealing more dust than air.

“Does he ever clean this place?

Peering in at the darkness, Dipper found that the answer was probably a ‘no’. It was even more full than he remembered, boxes littering the floor and countless new artifacts lying on shelves. A thick atmosphere of knowledge, and age, and regret hung over the place. It seemed to glow a gentle cozy colour - not red, maroon maybe? Either way, the stench of books, oak, and must forced its way up their noses as they stepped in and took a look around.

One of the Journals was lying open on the desk. Several overt quill pens were similarly strewn over the wooden surface (one of which the teen took, reckoning that he’d need to make notes. Plus he liked them.)

A wandering thought suggested that he should probably feel bad about this, but his Grunkle had _so much_ of everything. None of it would be missed. Even as he dropped to his knees to inspect something, he saw his sister travel to the opposite end of the room. The computer was still broken from where he had shot it years ago, the glass clearly swept away and the headpiece mysteriously missing. Dipper couldn’t help but wonder if he’d even be doing this if the plan to protect his mind had worked properly.

No point in dwelling on past regrets, he supposed, and he heaved the lid of the box up with a grunt of effort. Damn, this stuff was pretty heavy duty. Nicely ornate, too, something that the teen would pick out from a sale.

He looked down into a wooden crate, and gave a pleased cry.

Candles! An entirely expected component of his ‘studies’, Dipper checked to see that Mabel was fully engrossed in the large monitors down one end of the room as he grabbed a sizeable bundle; she knew what Dipper was planning to do, but he didn’t much want to explain his choices in theft to his sister. Especially as one specified a working switchblade, which was probably not something he should think about right at that moment. 

Necromancy included death, and blood. He knew that much.

Eyes sweeping over the various shelves and boxes, he caught sight of a roughly hewn spinning top, which he took, running his thumb fascinatedly over the soft wood. When he placed it on the table it stood perfectly upright on its point. Figuring that it was probably nothing special (aside from the impeccable balance) he put it with the candles and turned his attention elsewhere.

Then he began to genuinely root through the contents of the room, always replacing anything he didn’t need exactly as it had originally been left. A book on magical theory was slipped under his fleece. Thin, and quite obviously from another dimension given that it was written in a language he didn’t recognise, Dipper figured that he could either get Bill to translate it for him or could find a translation. Aside from that guide, there was no other mention of in depth magic in any of the books.

Switchblade… there was a whole box of those, and he took a simple black one.

Snagging a few crystals from the back of a bowl, he went on to collect everything on his list, feeling his pockets slowly become weighed down by the pure quantity of items he was stealing. Thankfully, his sister was entirely enthralled by the room and carefully avoiding looking at the actions of her brother too closely.

“What’s that?” 

Mabel was staring quizzically at something tucked into a little alcove. Going to join her, Dipper was slightly taken aback - it looked oddly like a snowglobe, with starry contents that writhed and morphed inside of it like no physics ought to allow. He’d never seen it before. Having no knowledge of it, a gut instinct told Dipper that it was probably something extremely important.

It was likely the kind of thing that Bill would love. Ford had never even bothered to warn the teens about it. Go figure.

“I guess we’ll have to ask him about it.” His twin has poked a hand in to stroke the glass dome, wincing at the way that the insides swam about erratically. She seemed far less perturbed by the _random globe of unknowable power_ than he as she shrugged and stepped back. “It’s Grunkle Ford, he would have had a good reason for hiding stuff from us. It’s probably just something he picked up from his travels.”

“Sure.” Dipper wasn’t willing to think much on it, jostling past her (ignoring the disappointed sigh) and inspecting the tapestries that had been largely torn from the walls. Half of one remained intact, the rest hanging down in varyingly long tatters, an ongoing project of removal that happened when Ford was feeling angry and needed an outlet. Stan had been the one to suggest it; it was both relieving, and got the job done.

Still, it was awfully strange to see them in the study. The demon was imposing, looming far above him with that half of an eye, leering hysterically.

Dipper had the feeling that Bill would never stop mocking him for getting so wound up in all of his machinations. Just like so many people before him, and just as Pines were apparently wont to do, caught in an unfortunate cycle. If he or Mabel were to ever have children (unlikely on his part), would they also have to deal with the dream demon?

Or even, make deals with a dream demon? His arm prickled at the thought, a haze of remembered flame flickering along it.

“Uh, bro-bro? You’ve been staring at that for… scary long. Are you okay?” His sister placed a hand on his shoulder, where it settled warmly. “Not having a relapse, are you?”

“What? No.” Laughing fakely, he shrugged one shoulder, blinking the image of the flaming hand out of his head. “I just… I’m tired. I needed something to look at.”

“Right.” Mabel didn’t sound convinced, but she moved away nonetheless, leaving her brother to take one final glance before checking his pockets. Candles, switchblade, weird spinning top that had taken his fancy… the bundle poked out unnaturally from his fleece, so he stuffed his hands in and feigned nonchalance. 

“So yeah. I’ve got everything I needed.” He looked nervously to see what the response would be. Mabel looked to be keeping her expression carefully schooled, nibbling on the inside of her bottom lip. His heart sank. “You’re going to tell him, aren’t you?”

“No!” her response was too quick, hands flying to placate her brother. “No, of course not. Mystery twins, right? I just wish that you didn’t feel the need to act out against him. I mean, I understand, but it’s been affecting both of you.”

Dipper flinched. “I don’t see how. I don’t see how you’re so forgiving, and… Don’t you remember the end of that first summer?”

“He offered you an opportunity to be his apprentice. You thought about it, decided not to, and told him where to shove it, very politely.” Mabel chuckled at that. “You still worshipped him back then, though. I really thought you were gonna stay.”

“Only if you could have, too. I’m still mad that he thought you could ever be ‘stifling’.” Maybe his tone was too bitter, because she snuck her mouth behind the collar of her sweater. When she spoke, her words were slightly muffled.

“Yeah, I know. But Ford tries. Stan’s verging on desperate, sometimes. They love you.”

Sighing, Dipper removed his hands from his pockets and moved to hug Mabel, who remained limp in his grasp but slowly lowered her head onto his shoulder. There was no winning this, really. Promise all he liked, how he felt about his Grunkles was really irrelevant at this point - any attempt at peacemaking was somewhat dulled by the fact that he was (unwillingly) collaborating with the family’s collective worst enemy. Not that his sister was to know that. So he simply gave a hearty sniff and let her go.

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more amenable. Okay? Some days are just hard.”

“I know, and I’m sorry for being a grump about you being a grump the other day. You’ve been doing so well recently that I kinda forget that you’re not quite better.” She looked momentarily down at his hidden collection of items, and smiled gently. “If it helps, then I’m all for it.” 

With a startled realisation, he knew that Mabel hadn’t really wanted to do this in the slightest. It was just that her eagerness to spend some time with her brother had prompted her to come along.

Suddenly, the elevator started up. 

In retrospect, hiding behind the monitors instead of - say - going down the blatantly obvious stairwell was a very poor decision indeed. Dipper could only barely regulate his breathing to an inaudible level. Mabel was doing her ‘play dead’ thing where she somehow remained so still that it almost worried him. The door opened with a creak.

“Kids?” Ford sounded apprehensive, and verging on angry. “You’d better not be in here.”

Neither of them moved an inch, stilled in terror. If they were caught then Dipper would definitely have to turn out his pockets and there was just way too much that he couldn’t adequately explain. Never mind the fact that Mabel had no real reason to be down here, save for an odd desire to collaborate even on the strangest of her brother’s wishes. 

A heavy sigh. “No?” The voice traveled some way down the room. “Why you’d be in here, I have no idea... Nevermind.”

For a few minutes after the door shut, they listened only to the sounds of unhealthy rumbling and hushed voices from the shop upstairs. Finally, Mabel gave a relieved sigh and grabbed her twin’s hand, a single tear squeezing out in spite of the shaky smile on her face.

“Mystery Twins?” 

“Mystery Twins.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to WyldeHeart, because their comment made me laugh an inordinate amount and actually prompted me to finish this.
> 
> Anyway, apologies for the delay! It turns out that doing 4 difficult A levels really eats into your free time. I'll aim to get a chapter up as regularly as possible, although the length of each one will probably make that somewhat infrequent. And yeah, if this chapter seems a bit filler-y, that's because it is. We'll be back to shenanigans with our favourite triangle next time.
> 
> SONG: 'The Kids Aren't Alright' by Fall Out Boy


	5. It’s All In Your Head

Much as he hated to admit it to himself, Dipper was rather excited when the morning came that he would be meeting the glorified triangle again.

Bag packed neatly (and, thankfully, not clicking with the telltale sound of candles smacking into one another) he traipsed to the door, ready for another day of conflict and intrigue. The promise of magic was far more alluring after having thought on it, dark or nay, and he was eager to see if the demon would go through with his claims. Opening the door, the teen was halfway out when a hand clapped on his shoulder.

Damn.

“Where are you going so early?” Ford inquired, heavy gloves discomforting as they chafed on Dipper's simple checkered flannel.

“Oh, uh…” Floundering for a response, Dipper hitched his bag up and winced at the sound of his food provisions being thoroughly squashed. “I was going to go do some… Research. Hunting, maybe. Like old times.”

Ford brightened visibly; Dipper's heart sank.

“Why not go together? I need to check over some information for Journal 4 anyway, and we've not been on an adventure in so long.”

Oh, god. This was bad. Aside from the fact that the teen was planning on going directly to find the demon, he couldn't help but remember the past attempts at Grunkle and great nephew bonding time. He'd said some less than pleasant things which still stung with the foolishness of them. Perhaps they had been true. In fact, they had certainly been true - it didn't make their cruelty any less powerful. Having the older man come along was a bad idea for so many reasons. The fact that Dipper was meeting his ultimate nemesis was surprisingly low on the list. 

“We can't.” It was awful to see the hope die in Ford's eyes, and the guards that flew up as it happened - what was it with Dipper and upsetting people lately? “Not… I don't mean…”

“No, no, I understand. You've got the whole ‘lone wolf’ persona going on.” The Grunkle spoke with a false heartiness, ruffling the teen's hair fondly. “You enjoy your day out. Do tell me if you find anything!”

Dipper was shoved out of the door, which slammed heavily behind him.

Stan was going to be so mad. 

Quickly making his way to the eyes, he found that Bill wasn’t there when he arrived - apparently, he was early again, and the demon doubtlessly had a lot of things to do. What did a dream demon even spend its time doing? Aside from creating horrific nightmares for a majority of the population of the planet, the teenager couldn’t help but wonder if Bill had any other responsibilities. Or hobbies. 

_Not_ including world domination. That… wasn’t a hobby to Dipper’s mind, not yet.

Riffling through his canvas bag, he drew out a breakfast bar and munched on it considerately, eyes tracing the hundreds of gazes that were seemingly trained on him. Some were far neater than others, with a majority being recognisable, but a few could barely be called…

Wait. Was that one melting?

Taking a cursory bite of his compacted cereal, the boy drew his back in closer and stared determinedly at the tree, noting that the carving was indeed slowly slipping down. It was unnerving, to say the least; he prepared to run away even as the rest of them slowly lost their shape, drooping increasingly along the bark. His breath was coming in quick pants, mind overwhelmed by the warping of reality, when - 

“HEY KID!”

Shrieking, Dipper fell gracelessly to the floor, glaring furiously at the triangular interloper that shone so brightly against the shock of monochrome around them. Wild laughter rang through the air and beat into his ears. For a blissful moment, the teen simply lay with his head in a leaf pile, trying to fight back the frustrated groan that bit at his throat.

“Hello, Cipher,” he eventually deigned to respond. “The forest looks great from this angle. I may just stay here.”

“If there’s anyone that knows anything about angles, it’s me,” Bill huffed, sounding insulted. The triangle extended his reach to drag Dipper from his lying position and upright. “I’m telling you now kid, the angle I’m getting here is the one that says that we _have a lot of work to do today, Pine Tree._ ”

An overlarge pile of papers appeared above Dipper and hovered momentarily before collapsing onto his head. Allowing only a quiet _‘oof!’_ to push past his lips, he scrambled to stay stood against the sudden knock, cursing Bill's dominion over the Mindscape with a few colourful phrases. Grasping at one of the papers, he found that it simply said ‘A LOT OF WORK’ in thick black print. All of its siblings were the same.

“I get it, you're a busy demon or whatever. That was unnecessary.” 

“On the contrary, it was more than vital,” the demon quipped, making the papers burn up harmlessly. “The look on your face was priceless!”

Wondering why he had been looking forward to this in any capacity, the teen crossed his arms and gave a glare that was easily read to mean ‘well then, lead the way’, which the demon happily did, darting hither and thither through pensive trees. For a moment, Dipper considered simply walking off in the opposite direction; he dispensed with the idea almost immediately. There was no way that Cipher would allow it. So he merely readjusted the straps of his backpack and followed meekly.

Even after so many summers, Dipper still felt the need to survey the forest as they walked, noting the direction they were taking - due north, apparently, led to a clearing that would suffice. Every now and again, an eye would leer out at him from the darkness or the bark of a tree. 

“... Just how far into the forest did you take this host of yours?”

Chuckling mirthlessly, Bill turned and continued to float backwards. “Maybe we’ll find them, Pine Tree. Can’t say that I remember where I left them - maybe they managed to _crawl some distance_ before finally giving up the ghost!”

Dipper shivered and was thankful when the triangle turned his back again. Sometimes he forgot just what Bill was, and how far removed he was from the human idea of death… well, not from causing it. From the sounds of it, the death of the poor sap who’d carved those eyes had been lethargic and agonizing, and the demon showed absolutely no remorse. Dipper would be a fool to be shocked by that, yet he couldn’t help the slightly skittish laugh that escaped. A certain level of discretion was needed to survive this in any way intact; it was a discretion that he had been losing his grasp on up until now.

“This is it, PT!”

The clearing was promisingly devoid of plants, a simple and fairly circular area of grass with a couple of conspicuous burn marks.

“So… how do you plan to get me to do all this stuff? The spells, that is. You wouldn’t have asked me if I couldn’t do it.” Dipper caught the conflicted look that the demon gave him, and felt oddly offended. “What?”

A flock of birds beat into the sky, wings pounding into the air in time with their cries. 

“You haven’t got the magic, PT. I need you to be able to access it, but your dimension is…” he waved his arm wildly. “Wrong, somehow. Supernatural creatures but no human practitioners? Something isn’t right there. So. I have a proposition.”

“Why does this sound like a deal?” Dipper asked, uneasily. 

Bill doffed his hat. “It is, kid! Oh, come on now, don’t give me that look. I’m nothing if not fair.”

“Last time - which was only a few days ago, so I don’t know how you expect me to agree to anything - you literally _forced me_ to work for you. The time before that, you almost killed both me and Mabel, and probably caused a majority of my mental health problems. Sorry if I’m not _falling over myself_ to agree.”

“Ah, funny.” The demon span his bowtie until it was a blur. “Well, this one has a pretty dandy outcome for you, if I may say so myself. You get direct access to my magic, and all you have to do is let me into your mind!”

Okay, so Dipper wasn’t the most intelligent of people at times, but to think that he’d accept that so easily was an insult.

“No. God, no. Why would I ever agree to that?”

“Allow me to clarify: you get magic, and we get telepathic link. I need to be able to contact you outside of our meetings.”

“So? I don't want you poking around in my head.” Determined not to take this lying down, the teen crossed his arms and scowled.

“What you want is irrelevant.”

“We can find a way to do this without you having access to my mind, right? Isn't the Mindscape enough for you?”

Frustrated, the demon began to tap his foot in midair. “You’re hardly in a place to negotiate, kid. If you can’t use magic, you can’t fulfill your end of the deal. The consequences… well,” Bill’s eye grew with his body, glaring at Dipper with unrivalled acrimony. “ _I hardly think you want me to take your soul FORCIBLY, now do you?_ ”

Dipper gulped.

“You’re… That’s despicable.” Why was he surprised? Why was the teen ever surprised by anything that the demon did? “Do you garner some kind of enjoyment from this, or what?”

Shrinking gradually to his normal size, Bill had an air of severe disappointment. “Of course I do, Pine Tree. I thought you’d grasped this concept when you were twelve. Although, judging by the fact that you made a deal with me after only having met me during a less than amicable situation… maybe not. I don’t often overestimate a human! You ought to be touched.”

Feeling a little bullied, Dipper huffed. “Right, right. Can we get back to blackmailing me, or whatever?”

“SURE THING!” A cane hooked itself around the teen’s neck, pulling his face dangerously close to the triangle, a fatal air surrounding him. “You take this deal, or you become mine in the worst way. I’ve already forfeited your body, and the mind is flexible, but I swear to you - defy this, Pine Tree, and I _will_ take your soul. No hope of redemption for you! No cheery heavenly afterlife!”

“As if there ever was.” The teen pushed away, shaking, and raised an arm. “Deals with demons? Agnostic or not, if there is anything beyond this, I’m not going to be on the list of the worthy.”

Eye gleaming with suppressed revelry, Bill sparked a cobalt light and shook Dipper’s hand, sending that uncomfortably familiar tingle through his nerves, and a meager wash of regret blanketed his mind. Attempting to shift his focus from his current affliction, he thought on the feeling of the demon’s hand, so small and warm and oddly _real,_ even though it could only be so in their current world of chiaroscuro. Could Bill feel him in the same way?

‘ _Sure can!_ ’

The voice had spoken from within Dipper’s mind, he was sure of it, and a slight twinge of pain became a definite spasm as the link was established. It felt like a cold claw was poking around his brain and hooking itself with a vengeance somewhere behind his forehead. He kneaded the chill with his wrist, grumbling. Tomorrow seemed to carry the promise of a harrowing migraine.

‘ _Now I can hear your thoughts kid! Well, the ones you direct my way, but it’s gonna take a little while to iron out any problems._ ’

“Ugh, that's awful. I feel like I'm going insane, hearing voices in my head,” Dipper moaned, splaying one hand over his face. He paused. “I'm not actually going insane, right?”

‘ _Hysterical as it would be for me to make you think so, no. Could you respond in your mind? Trying to check this for a reason._ ’

‘ _No._ ’

‘ _Hah! You're funny, kid._ ’ Bill looked oddly smug, digging through Dipper's bag with one hand and humming in approval. Pulling out the magic book, he gave a delighted cry and immediately set about reading it. “Ah, Pine Tree, seems Sixer has a use after all! I'll adjust your eyes so you can read this - hang on -”

To his surprise, the teen found that when he next looked at the cover he could read it, albeit with a slight discomfort as the letters shifted ever so slightly. Mabel had once described dyslexia as being similar to this; he was immediately thankful that he didn't have to try and read like this all the time. It gave him a headache.

‘Magical Spells and their Uses’, the front read, with a smaller title of ‘ _An acclaimed tome for comprehensible spellcasting - recommended by practitioners everywhere!_ ’

“Speaking of magic,” the demon muttered, slipping the book into the bag at Dipper's feet, “You feel it, right, kid?”

Unsurprisingly, he could. Bill’s magic didn’t have the warmth that Dipper expected - it wasn’t the slight burn that his favourite authors described, although it definitely had heat. It felt more like the unshakeable fever of an illness. Lingering in his core, running easily up to the tips of his fingers, it had an aura of unbelievable power and potential that smoldered under his skin.

But it wasn’t _good._

No, the magic felt distinctly… he couldn’t think of a word to fit it, aside from _perverse_. It was most definitely demonic, most definitely capable of terrible, dire things, necromancy and fakery and a whole multitude of acts that would make a pastor foam at the mouth. It made Dipper lightheaded, and nauseous at the searing, sickly warmth, a remembrance of countless cases of the flu and wondering if he could ever be well again.

Honestly, Dipper kind of liked it. 

Not the whole ‘evil’ part; he’d never admit to being enticed by that in any regard, although he was, infinitesimally. What he could appreciate was the unbridled honesty of Bill’s powers. Instead of pretending to be something amoral, or unbiased, there was no doubt in the teen’s mind that what he now wielded was something ultimately malevolent.

He could appreciate that. He could appreciate not being lied to, in favour of ‘peace of mind’ or whatever it was that most people wanted. That would be foolish, really. 

“You could say that,” Dipper replied, directing the flow to his fingertips and shivering at the vile discomfort that accompanied it. Bill’s eye focused on his forehead, and he giggled (a sound that the teen was learning to hate).

“Your birthmark glows, kid. It’s pretty conspicuous. Still! Knew you had an aptitude for this stuff - you’d be a natural mage if your dimension worked right.”

“Thanks. I think.” Dipper watched as a small black hand thoughtfully grasped his own and looked it over, magic still pooling there under his tentative direction. “It… feels like you.” A curious glance flickered towards him. “The magic, I mean. It’s got your personality.”

Did Bill blush? Either way, the triangle put one hand up to his bow tie and his blazing yellow hue faded slightly, apparently mollified by his statement. “Why, thanks, kid. Maybe we’re more alike than you thought.” Catching Dipper’s confused stare, he waved an arm expressively. “Alike magic tends to be recognisable to practitioners. The most obvious characteristic is the colour - yours would probably be blue, like mine.” He hummed. “Navy blue. Commendable, but way too benevolent.”

Promptly letting go of the boy, he rose up (spinning like a top, which was just impossible to take seriously) and summoned his cane with a flourish. An overlarge professor’s garb drooped over his sides and along his arms, top hat flickering out of existence to be usurped by a stereotypical wizard’s hat.

Much as Dipper didn’t want to let his guard down, he couldn’t help the hysterical laughter that started up.

“Right! Let’s Harry Potter this shit!” 

Dipper was similarly weighed down by a hat and robe as he tried to work out why Bill knew of Harry Potter at all, and also halt the slew of chortles that kept escaping. “Language,” he eventually managed to huff. 

“Did you just tell an omnipotent dream demon to _mind his language?_ After everything else I’ve done to you, you’re gonna reprimand me for that?” A cane rapped heavily on Dipper’s head. “I rescind any previous statements about you not being a totally incomprehensible imbecile. Besides, swearing is fun!”

“Whatever you say,” he replied, shrugging off the robe and hat. The demon said nothing, but looked a touch disappointed. “Now, what do I have to do?”

Suddenly serious, any hints of extra clothing immediately disappeared, returning to the typical top hat. Bill swooped down to hover next to the teen, arms outstretched. “Lucky for you, kid, you’ve got one of the best teachers in the dimensions. Even so, gotta start out simple! So let’s get you on my trademark move. Try this for size - get your magic to your hands, yep, then focus on the idea of flame.”

Nothing happened, despite Dipper focusing impossibly hard. “It’s not working!” he huffed, turning to find the demon laughing. Or, it seemed that way, bottom eyelid curved up into a definite expression of amusement.

“Ha! The look on your face! Of course it isn’t working, I haven’t told you the spell yet.” Even as the boy began to get extremely frustrated, Bill flicked his palms out. “It’s simple. Just do what you were before, and say ‘ignis’ once.”

Disbelieving, Dipper held his wrists as the demon was doing, and pooled his energy. “ _Ignis!_ ” he commanded. 

Two blazing blue fires flickered up over his hands, making him yelp and flap them wildly. The flames persisted, however, until the teen had calmed and could somewhat appreciate their beauty. It was… weird, to see them in his own palms, rather than Bill’s, and a familiar bite of remorse made him nibble at his lip. “Wow. Okay. I’m doing magic.” With a controlled flick of his hands, the fires went out. “ _Ignis!_ ” They returned. Aside from a faint heat, they had no effect on him whatsoever.

A vague hunger was present in Bill’s eye as he looked on, an obscurely exultant light. Hints of his thoughts accidentally slipped into Dipper’s mind, a whisper of ‘ _what his family would - kinda rich - way better than the - never really imagined he’d - Sixer’ll - should’ve gone with - can do._ ’ 

He elected to pretend he hadn’t heard, but knew that the demon was absolutely revelling in the irony of the situation. It must feel pretty good to see the family of your nemesis on your side (in the loosest sense of the word) and casting your trademark spell with what Dipper realised was probably close to reverence on his face. He tried to school his features into a more appropriate expression, but it was difficult, knowing that the fire was _his_ and that he could make it any time. 

“Demonic fire.” 

Bill smugly waved his own hand in the blaze and caught the blue light, waving it around with an air of cruel humour. “It’s not like physical fire. Doesn’t burn items, very easy to summon - when you’re connected to a demon like me.”

Sheathing it, Dipper dug in his backpack for the magic book, eyes adjusting to Bill’s translation and finding it in the index. One of the first pages. A simple spell, then. His eyes flickered over the neatly drawn example, reading quickly about its symbolism and uses. “This is confusing,” he muttered, checking over it again. “Why is it intimidating if it uses so little power?”

“Uh, kid. _Demonic_ fire? It’s kinda unique. Sure, it only takes a tiny dribble of magical potential, but it implies that you have a hell lot more up your sleeve.” 

“Oh. Cool.” The teen dragged his finger down the page and prodded at another point. “And what’s this bit about deals? I mean, obviously it’s used in them, but why?”

Bill gave him an unreadable stare, and a brief thought of ‘ _quick study_ ’ before responding. “It says something about potency, right?” A nod. “It’s symbolic more than anything - your hand sets on fire, and you are briefly caught in the same flame, right? It also directs the magic to metaphorically seal the spoken contract. I dunno, kid, it’s pretty conceptual.”

“No… I think I get it. Displays of power, light, deals. Wait, can I make deals?” The idea was thrilling and terrifying in equal measure. “That would be… pretty awesome, actually!”

“Whoa, whoa kid, calm it.” A placating hand pulled the book down and prompted the teenager to look up. “That’s something for another time. Let’s try something else. How about physical fire?”

Physical fire (or “ _ignis aureum!_ ” as the book read) burned. Literally, painfully, burned, and Dipper didn’t know why he screamed so loudly or was even remotely shocked when his skin began to blister underneath the yellow flickering.

Regrettably, the spell also responded to strength of emotion. 

It took a lot of Bill cursing loudly and attempts to calm down before the Mindscape was no longer ablaze, and Dipper could hold a small flame in his palms that didn’t grow too large to control effectively. A common problem with new practitioners, the demon grumbled, was a tendency to direct their magic incorrectly and as such harm themselves rather than complete the task they actually intended to do. 

“Give it a while, Pine Tree,” he had muttered exhaustedly, brushing off his hat. “Soon you’ll be able to use it as a weapon. Assuming we ever get that far.”

Recognising the insult, Dipper scowled and flung the small projectile at the demon, vindicated when it successfully singed his side and prompted a brief yelp of surprise. The brief flicker of red that followed sparked fear in the teenager - he was entirely in submission in the Mindscape - but Bill brushed it off with a marginally sadistic laugh. “That’s more like it, Pine Tree. WE’LL BRING THAT DESTRUCTIVE NATURE OUT IN TIME!” Noting the bodily flinch of the human, he sighed. “And we were doing so well! Ah, you’ll loosen up. The repetition of _horrific immoral acts_ tends to acclimatise a person to such things, especially when they are so open to collude with a dream demon.”

“It’s called a sense of ‘self-preservation’, mine’s pretty well developed,” Dipper grumbled, but couldn’t really disagree. “I’m only helping because I have no choice.”

“Puh-lease!” Bill waved his hand with a roll of the eye. “I can see into your head, kiddo! I know you find this thrilling. Besides, this is me being _nice_. You could even be my apprentice, or some similar form of lesser servant! They say the pay is awful, but the care is great!”

Electing to ignore Bill, Dipper rooted around in his bag and drew out a clump of candles, setting them out on a circle on the floor. He wanted to try something. Watching the confused form of Bill bobbing in the air at his side (‘ _what’s he - sure couldn’t just be - damn annoying - better be interesting’_ ), he tried to aim his attention at the wicks of the candles, lifting his arms. “Ignis aureum!” he cried.

All but one of the candles caught alight, simmering gently.

“Okay, that was a nice display of control there, PT. I’ll give you that.” The demon’s eye glittered greedily. “I wouldn’t get too used to it. My abilities go way beyond what your body will be able to control… at first. Let’s just hope there aren’t any unfortunate _outbursts._ ”

Shuddering at the thought, Dipper considered his fingernails very closely, wondering whether or not Bill would really care if he were to suffer such a fate. Probably not. The boy held no illusions about the nature of their relationship (he hoped) and knew that inasmuch as he was useful, he was also a source of smug entertainment. A throwaway thing, probably. Shifting his gaze skyward, he looked into the face of his exulting devil, and gave a hum. “Can you use it to heal?” The blisters on the human’s hands were achingly painful; if he focused enough then it tingled like unshakeable cramp.

“Easy,” the demon responded, waving flippantly. “Just get your magic where you need it and say ‘sano’. Or was it ‘sanum’? No, definitely ‘sano’. Wording is everything, PT. Without words, magic’s just directionless power.”

“ _Sano,_ ” Dipper whispered, watching his palms heal with a gentle blue glow. Raw red skin turned to a gentle and healthy pink, with no obvious discrepancy from before. Unlike the general feeling of his power, this was soothing, and sweet. “Ah, that feels nice.”

With no response from the demon aside from a raised eyebrow (or… whatever Bill had, Dipper couldn’t really ascribe any human attributes), he began to look through the index of the book, pulling out what seemed like easier spells. One for comfortable rest seemed harmless enough, and it only required a touch of extra help to fully work it. Taking one of the roses that he had uprooted the other day, he removed as much of the juices from the petals as he could, crushing the rest into a paste in his hand. It wasn’t particularly enjoyable; the slimy result of his ministrations made him gag, the stench of roses and sweat combining unpleasantly. 

Casting a glance at the book, he cupped the paste in his palms and focused on it. “ _Bonum somno; somnum auxilium._ ” It glowed blandly for a moment and seeped into his palms. 

Shuddering at the sensation of the spell settling in, and the sudden exhaustion, Dipper cast a glance up at his… teacher? Bill was staring, one hand thoughtfully stroking his bowtie. The teenager got the impression that the demon wasn’t entirely paying attention to the current moment, especially judging by the increasing upward curve of his eye.

“Ah, that’s hysterical,” he muttered in his rasping tone, blinking down at his charge with an air of bleariness, chuckling in the least terrifying manner that Dipper had heard yet. “Apologies, kid, a couple of dreams to mess about with. I’m letting a lot of gorgeous nightmares slip by with the attention I’m giving you, you know!”

“How lucky I am,” Dipper huffed drolly. 

He received a flick on the side of his head for that. “Ungrateful brat.” Probably meaning to sound harsh, it still seemed fond, and the admonishment carried no weight. “That’s fine for today, I think. Need to get you all up to date on the fundamentals, though…”

In no hurry to find out what these ‘fundamentals’ were, Dipper carefully began to pack his bag up, slipping the tome in fondly and shifting the weight around to even it out. While not especially long, the trek back would feel lengthier if he had to endure a crippling pain down one side. Memories of overweight school bags made him shudder and rather wish he’d not thought of it at all. Remembering his high school career in general was a thing that Dipper didn’t much care to do - with Bill Cipher maintaining a mental link between them, this was doubly true.

Running a thumb over the sturdy canvas material, he hummed and pulled his possessions over his back. 

Bill considered a huge and brightly coloured paper timetable that had appeared in his hands moments before. If Dipper looked over, he could see that the current day had ‘FIRST MAGIC LESSON WITH PT’ written on in huge spindly lettering, and a smaller list of spells underneath. A week on, the words ‘BLOOD MAGIC’ were similarly picked out, with a tiny smiley face.

It managed to be menacing, somehow.

“I’ll get going, then?” Dipper gestured generally towards the Mystery Shack, aware of the severe discomfort of a goodbye. “See you in… two days, I guess?”

“Yeah, yeah, PT. Two days. Same as usual.”

The teen didn’t move, shuffling slightly and rocking back on his heels. Squinting at him, Bill tilted slightly to the left, eventually resting his hands on what could feasibly be his hips and affixing a look of frustration onto the kid. “What?”

“No other instructions?” Dipper blurted, face reddened at the delicate tension in the air. “I just thought you’d wanna… I dunno, threaten me some more before I left. It’s kind of what you do.”

Rolling his eye, Bill waved Dipper away and allowed him to slowly phase out of the Mindscape; the boy’s perplexed look was irritating as it was hysterically amusing. “I’ll be in touch, Pine Tree. I’ll be making sure that you don’t go giving away any information on our nice little deal. Good thing I’m directly connected to you, huh?”

Dipper fled into the undergrowth, thankful for the bloom of colour around him.

***

Bill laughed as he watched the boy disappear into the foliage.

Oh, this was _rich._

To see his enemy sporting his flames, wonder only marginally kept from alighting his tired features, obviously entranced… it was so much better than possessing him would have been. Sure, it would have been hysterical to watch the Pines family fall apart under his guidance, dragged kicking and screaming into his plans. Of course it would. Yet he liked the kid.

It was mostly due to the humor it afforded the demon, but he definitely like his Pine Tree. And for sure, Pine Tree was _his_. Owning his body had been a good deal, one that he was sorry to relinquish. For a link to his mind, however, the exchange was entirely worth it. Mind was not so far from _soul._

Smart, still snappy and sarcastic despite an illness that had taken away a lot of his kick - Dipper was witty, and entertaining, vibrant soul still shining out enticingly. A few of his thoughts would filter through every now and again. ‘ _He’s being oddly - Mabel is gonna - I made fire! - Fire! - can I? - shit, the tree -’_

A wisp of smoke rose from the treetops, making Bill laugh so hard that had he possessed anything akin to a stomach, he would have feared that he was going to be sick.

This was so _fun!_

Slipping easily into his Mindscape, the demon rubbed his tiny palms together. “Right, Cipher, let’s get this plan ironed out, shall we?” Snickering at the sound of his own voice reverberating through his dimension, Bill ignored the thought that it may not be so terrible to have somebody around to hear it.

***

Dipper was stood reshelving products when Bill first attempted to grab his attention.

‘ _HEY. PT. QUIT BEING TEDIOUS AND LISTEN UP!_ ’

The teen screamed gently and dropped the ornamental gnome he was carrying, startling a few of the customers and raising more than a few mutters about ‘weirdo locals’. Rushing to clear up the shards, he had to make an effort to remember not to respond vocally. ‘ _What do you want, Cipher? Can’t you see I’m sort of busy right now?_ ’

‘ _I’m hurt, Pine Tree! You should be happy to hear from me... no matter. I just felt like testing out the link._ ’

“While I’m at work? Isn’t there a better time?”

‘ _It’s the optimal point for the connection to fail, so yes, PT. Needed to make sure that the correct information gets through when you’re distracted._ ’

Dipper grumbled. “And does it work?”

‘ _Yep! Perfectly. Although, you’re talking out loud right now. Probably wouldn’t want to do that if you want to cling to the inconsequential human ideal of sanity!_ ’

True enough, an elderly man was staring with more than a small amount of discomfort, and a vaguely familiar child from the next town over was tapping on Grunkle Stan’s arm. They pointed at Dipper and whispered something behind a diminutive hand. A consternated look flashed over Mr Mystery’s face and he gave the teen a warning glare before tapping the patron lightheartedly on the shoulder and directing them to a set of toys.

Face heating at a ridiculous speed, he turned back to his shattered gnome and deposited the remains in the bin. “Rest in pieces,” he muttered, almost unconsciously, and carefully ignored the heavy groans of the kid who had heard his awful pun. 

‘ _I swear, say something that awful again and I’ll make it so that everybody can hear me._ ’

‘ _Kindly stuff it, Bill_.’ Dipper made a concerted endeavor to show no outward expression, carefully returning shirts to their hangers where careless patrons had allowed them to fall to the floor. Apparently this did the trick; Bill did not return to chide him for the rest of his shift, and Stan simply cast concerned glances his way for the rest of the evening. On occasion, it seemed as though he was on the verge of saying something but decided against it, rocking on his heels with a sour expression.

It wasn’t a peace that could last. How on the earth Bill could maintain a constant watch on the life of the Pines alongside his other exploits, Dipper didn’t know - yet watch he did. The demon had a retort and a comment for everything. Frequently, said retorts were vulgar. 

In fact, the internal messages became such a constant annoyance that Dipper began to normalize them (something that he later realized was a sign of his ultimate acquiescence coming to fruition.) An offhand comment about Ford would make him burst out laughing, seemingly for no reason, and the worry on the faces of his family only increased as he whispered in response. 

“You… Okay there, kid?” Stan had asked one morning, gazing solemnly over his paper.

‘ _Ha! If only he knew. You're like, as far as you can get from any meatbag’s concept of ‘okay’ , and I'm comparing you to the likes of good old Ronald Reagan!_ ’

The teenager gave a cough at that, smirking, and tried to maintain an innocent smile. “I'm doing fine, thanks. Good day, actually! On a streak.”

“...right. And if anything was - I dunno, wrong in some way - you'd tell us, yeah?”

Offended, Dipper looked to Mabel and Ford, who were attacking their breakfasts with similar gusto and feigned innocence. A pinched line of worry had formed on his sister's brow, and he chastised himself for not noticing it before.

‘ _You need to step up your game on the whole ‘inconspicuous’ thing, Pine Tree. You're about as subtle as a brick._ ’

“Course I would,” Dipper replied through a mouthful of pancake, grinning as genuinely as he could with an inordinate amount of pastry in the way. “Time out in the forests has done me good, I think. I'm really fine.”

Scarily enough, he was telling the truth.

Both Mabel and Ford visibly relaxed. Stan didn't move, electing to sigh imperceptibly, but he made no further attempt to question Dipper on it. Rising to stack his plate by the sink, the teen watched his family, slumped uncomfortably over their own meals and none of them looking at him. Ignoring the hitch in his throat, he gave a weak smile and walked out. Stan muttered something that he didn’t hear.

‘ _Hey, kid, you’re depressing me with this shit you’re sending my way. What’s up? Finally feeling the crippling grasp of guilt?_ ’

Tracing his hand over the whirls of the wooden walls, Dipper allowed the tiniest of blue flames to skirt harmlessly along his fingers. Much as it was foolish - the others were mere rooms away - it gave him a fond little flicker of light to smile at.

‘ _Not just yet, Cipher._ ’

The feeling that he received in response was something akin to disappointment, and the boy laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is either fun or terrible, and I'm not sure which. Still, here is your Dipper and Bill interactions for you sinners out there! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> SONG: 'Goldmine' by Kimbra


	6. On The Flagstones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BLOOD AND STUFF AHEAD. JUST TO WARN YOU.

There was a temple in the forest.

Dipper wasn’t sure why he was surprised, really, as there were far odder things out among the trees. But really. A _temple_. For _Bill_.

“You’ve gotta love cultists, ammirite? They’ll do anything so long as you make some pretty lights, possess somebody every now and then. Took a long time to get the marble out here, I tell you what!”

Gawping at the massive structure, Dipper clutched his magic book a little closer and admired the craftsmanship. There was relatively little distance between the building and the trees, so it was encircled and overrun by ferns and various grasses. A sprawling courtyard composed of simple rectangular flagstones stretched out before massive two massive columns. A set of (slightly bloodied) steps led up to an altar, similarly hewn out of a marble block and decorated with ornate triangles. It looked like a section of a greek temple had been picked up and dropped down in the middle of the forest of Gravity Falls.

Doubtless, it would have looked ridiculous without the heavy weathering that it had suffered. The aged air and faintly green tinge that touched everything - save for the stone flags, which Bill had scoured thoroughly - made the whole place far more worldly and intimidating.

Scuffing his shoes on the smooth stone, Dipper waited for Bill to finish setting up and counted all of the triangular figures on the detailed carvings atop the pillars. He’d reached a number around 73 when a sharp prod in his brain made him scowl and wince, turning to find the demon hovering in front of a blackboard. Obviously there was going to be more theory today than the lesson previous.

“Right, kid. Magical theory. Not simple, not for a useless human cerebellum! I’m sure you can do this, though.” Bill twirled his bowtie in thought. “Pretty sure.”

Wishing nothing more than to be back in his bed rather than stood listening to this, the teen attempted to summon a cushion with a muttered ‘ _concalo pulvinum’_ and huffed when he received half of a pillow. Bill laughed with that _stupid mocking cackle God why did he always have to sound like that_ and quickly retrieved the rest.

“Nice try, PT. You’ve been practicing.”

Pulling a notebook out, Dipper gave a slightly insincere ‘thank you’ and settled himself on the cushion; he found it oddly exciting to be studying outside of high school. A one-to-one tutelage session with a demon wasn't an experience that everybody got.

“Got something to write on? Good. I don't trust your primitive meatsack brain to remember all of this - nothing personal, kid, just experience.” An almost imperceptible thought regarding ‘ _stupid Sixer_ ’ flashed through the teen's mind. “You give me a place to start, PT. Ask a question and we'll go from there.”

A million and one queries flitted about around him, and it was a struggle to choose just one line of questioning. Eventually, Dipper plucked a particularly contentious one, which had bothered him from the beginning.

“Okay, to start with, you said there weren’t any practitioners,” Dipper huffed. “Does Ford not count?”

Bill gave a frustrated sigh and grabbed a piece of chalk, drawing a massive cow in the middle of his blackboard to vent his annoyance. Confused as he was, the teen had to admit that it was a pretty good picture, and he gave a tentative thumbs up as the demon turned back to him. “Right, okay. Gotta be awkward, don’tcha? Well - summonings, rituals, all that jazz? Definitely magic. What you’re missing here is where the magic comes from. A sorcerer draws on their _own_ magic to complete spells. With summonings, you’re drawing on external forces - so when I get summoned, it’s my magic that is being used. You see?”

“I… think I do.” Face scrunched up in thought, he tried to apply it. “So when I summoned those zombies, it wasn’t proper sorcery, because it wasn’t drawing from my own supply?”

“Got it!” Bill drew a harsh line through the cow and it mooed in apparent agony. “What our little deal before did was open you up to my supply and tap into your own. In a pretty roundabout way, that makes you a bona fide practitioner. You ought to be one anyway. I was just fixing a mistake in your flawed dimension.”

Dipper pinched his nose. “Hm. This all seems too vague. And stupidly dependent on overly complex rules.”

“Magic isn’t particularly easy to pin down, Pine Tree. More a form of energy than anything physical.” Scraping the chalk obnoxiously along the surface of the board, Bill drew a quick landscape of trees and houses. “Everything gives off this ‘energy’, right? A by-product of the living. As a dream demon, I have huge amounts, because my own existence provides so much of this energy.” From the landscape, Bill drew a set of offshooting arrows. They rolled together to form an amorphous blob.

Taking brief notes, Dipper nodded. “Okay. Magic is given off by living things. Got it.”

A small black hand then drew a dead body (judging by the cartoony x-ed out eyes) and a particularly sizeable arrow coming from it.

“Death releases more magic than life,” the demon continued, falling into a rhythm. “Which is only logical- any backlog of energy is released, although it tends to take on a different form. Unlike the magic released from life, death magic is generally ‘darker’ (which is a foolish concept, to try and apply morality to _magic_ , but _whatever_ ), hence the use of blood rituals. They absorb death magic, making them extremely potent, but kinda taboo. Necromancy is the study of all that junk.”

Finishing a full stop on his lined paper, Dipper glanced up to see the pictures being wiped clean and replaced with the image of a human. The blob of ‘magic’ floated above the human, chalky grains drifting off the board and onto the stone floor of the courtyard. 

“Magic on its own, well, it's fairly useless. Just builds up and hangs around the place. Gets too saturated. So you get practitioners appearing, who reduce the amount of it in the atmosphere, where it otherwise merely attracts attention.” The blob melted into the human and they shouted a silent spell, power shooting out of one hand. “Words give the energy a form, direction. Latin's the accepted language for spells, ‘cause it's been around so long and it's acclimated to that use.”

“But _you_ don't say anything when you use magic,” the teen observed. 

“Right ya are, PT. Casting can be silent, it just requires a very concentrated internal voice. Thinking the spell, basically. You can do that, ‘cause you're connected to me, but that's not true of everyone. Saying that - it's not like there's anyone to compare you to.”

Sensing something of interest coming up, Dipper leant his chin on one hand and listened passively.

“This dimension? Absolutely _stuffed to the brim_ with magic potential, all ‘cause nobody's using it! We ought to have magic users coming out of our asses, but there's only the one - even then, you'd never have used it if it weren't for me!” Bill definitely seemed smug about that. “Seriously though. Something's awry with your crib. Not sure what, but there's certainly a flaw somewhere.”

A spark clicked in Dipper's mind.

“So… that’s why you want to take over our universe, or whatever? The free magic?”

“Got it in one, PT!” Spinning around to draw a diagram of a triangle surrounded by arrows in all directions, Bill sounded distinctly more merry. “The magical potential in your dimension is crazy, kid. It’s right there for the taking! Much as I have an inordinate supply already, taking over your world would make me genuinely untouchable.” The arrows swirled round erratically and pointed towards the chalk triangle, which then began to grow in size. “I’d be the one calling the shots, I tell you what!”

Suddenly, the diagram disappeared, replaced by a miniscule drawing of Bill and Dipper. The chalk Bill floated up in the air and gained a crown, enthroned in blazing light. Chalk Dipper dropped into a deferential kneel, microscopic features displaying something like reverence.

Real Dipper was starting to feel a touch uncomfortable with the way he was being presented and shook his head vehemently. “Never gonna bow to you, Bill. Dream on. But… it makes a lot of sense, now. Your motivations.” Desire for power was understandable, something that the teen could almost sympathise with. It was far more difficult to sympathise with after Bill gave a mocking jeer and ruffled his curls carelessly.

“Well, that's good kid, ‘cause you've got a whole lot of leg work to be doing for those intentions of mine!”

***

A day later, they were working on organising the plants that Dipper had gathered before, knelt on the cold surface of the flags. Well, the teen was working - Bill was lying flat against the floor with his eye shut, soaking up the sunlight that slipped through patches in the overhead branches. He glowed even more than usual in the sincere light and more than once Dipper caught himself staring at the demon in dazzled interest. Somehow, the triangle looked close to benevolent when he was incapacitated.

They’d been caught in a continued silence for a good hour when the demon spoke up, stretching himself out even more in the clement spot.

“You know what we’ve got planned for this week, dontcha?”

Deflating internally, Dipper nodded. “Blood magic, yeah. I’ll… mentally prepare myself, I suppose. Will I need the knife?”

Bill rolled his eye. “Stupid question is _stupid._ Of course you’re gonna need the knife, Pine Tree! Unless you wanna tear your prey apart with your hands, which would be great, but it’s not particularly efficient for our purposes.” An image of the teen holding two separate halves of some mutilated creature flickered briefly on the demon’s front, making Dipper lean back and retch slightly. That level of gore was unnecessary, and yet the version of himself that was depicted seemed almost… thrilled, mouth quirked into an unhinged grin.

“Thanks for that,” Dipper gagged, trying to focus on de-thorning a sprig of pyracantha. “Great HD you have going there.”

Bill gave something like a snort and flipped over to lie on his front, arms and legs splayed wildly. “You meatsacks are so primitive. Your concept of ‘high definition’ is like watching an old VHS tape for a demon. And only 21 senses! What is with that?”

“Twenty one - ?” Shaking his head, the teen elected to ignore the comment and scratch at the fading scabs around his ear, missing the faint pressure of his hat over his hair. “Whatever. Do we really have to do this?”

Out of the corner of his eye, a brief flash of red was visible as the demon growled in frustration. “Necromancy. It’s part and parcel. Get used to it.”

“Yeesh! Sorry, sorry,” he replied, hacking at a particularly persistent thorn and wincing when it flew free and embedded itself in his leg. “What will we be using? A squirrel, or something?”

“Bird, probably. And then a bigger animal to gather a soul from. I’ll be consuming it - you could try, but I don’t fancy cleaning up your mangled remains just yet - and it should be a cheery little boost for both of us.”

Unsure that giving Bill any kind of ‘boost’ was a good thing, Dipper kept his mouth shut. Obviously, there wasn’t much of a choice available to him - the teen ought to just focus on getting through the damn thing without screwing up with mental health too much and somehow become a bit more used to the idea.

***

It was almost _too_ easy to catch the crow. Letting up a net of mostly metaphysical magic, Dipper watched it into the disturbance and drop from the air to the ground below, twitching faintly with sparks of unseen energy. Crows were his favourite animal. They were smart, free as the wind and beautiful in their simplicity; it stung to see what was such a majestic creature (to his mind) crash unceremoniously to the flagstones of the temple.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this, I can’t believe I’m doing this, I can’t…”

Sobbing slightly, he grabbed the bird in his left palm and drew his switchblade out with his right. It struggled viciously against his grasp. ‘Shhh, no, please shh.” Blade hovering just above its heaving chest, he paused. ‘ _What am I - I don’t know what I’m doing._ ’

‘ _Just cut along its chest, kid. One long incision._ ’

Hesitantly, he pressed the point of the instrument to the soft feathers and pushed down, gagging at the slightly squishy sensation and the oozing that bubbled up. The bird was struggling so much that he almost let it go in his agitation. Well. He’d gotten this far. Dragging the blade down and inwards, the unwelcome spray of blood angled towards his face and torso, leaving the same line of crimson down the boy as the crow.

“That was disgusting.” 

Bill was positively exultant as he phased into reality. “Red suits you, kid! Not too shabby, for a first attempt.”

“Ok, ok,” the teen whined, trying not to focus too hard on it. “What is the point of this, again?”

“A continuation of my first-class tutelage, Pines. As you should well appreciate! I am, after all, a MASTER of my craft!”

“Oh. I guess.” Rooting through his book for the information on the spell (not actually included in the book itself, but helpfully provided on a sheet of paper by the demon), the teen set the paper down on the floor to read from. Faintly disgusted, he drained some of the bird's blood onto the ground. It pooled into a sizeable puddle, thankfully enough to draw out all of the runes shown in the diagram. It was a circular design, composed of intertwining runic spells, sharp and hopefully not too complicated to copy correctly.

Kneeling on the floor, he dipped one index finger into the crimson, lip curled in determined distaste.

Dipper began to write out the spell in carefully drawn lines, muttering something about blood being ‘too viscous’ and ‘smelling utterly gross’ but ultimately increasingly unfazed. A niggle at the back of his mind said that this was _wrong wrong wrong_ (as if the rest of it hadn’t been) and casually reminded him of how upset Mabel would be at the sight of the dead bird. He ignored his conscience, blanketing it in apathy, and continued. After all, it could just be Bill trying to screw him up a bit more.

The demon flew to his side and began to critique his work. 

“God, kid, do you want to summon a hellhound by accident? It's a B, not an H.”

“I have literally _never_ done this before, what's your problem?”

Bill huffed. “I thought a basic copying activity wouldn't be beyond you, Pine Tree. You ain’t inspiring any confidence in me.”

“What a darn _shame,_ I'm heartbroken.”

“Tone it down a notch, PT, I'm trying to lighten the mood. And that's also wrong, now you're making greek fire.” There was a shift in positions as Bill enlarged the image. “There. You know, you'd do well to thank me, kiddo. I'm offering you life skills here. A degree in magical studies!”

“I hardly think that I qualify as anything other than messed up thanks to you, Bill.” Reaching for the bird, Dipper grasped his blade and nervously began to prod around at its chest area. “Hardly gonna get a qualification in blood magic, now am I?”

“But you’re a practitioner now! Get good enough and we could have you making deals like a pro.”

Dipper almost dropped the knife he was handling, staring widely at the floating demon with more than a sprig of excitement. “Wait, what? Seriously?” He remembered it being mentioned in passing before, and was shamefully taken with the concept.

Unimpressed, Bill corrected the runes once more and shook the blood off his palm, allowing it to spatter quietly onto the flagstones. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it, kid. New summoning circles get made all the time, ya know, and it wouldn’t be difficult to rig one up for you. With a bit of magic, you can fulfill just about any wish.” He considered the teen with a heavily lidded eye. “Not that you’d want to fulfill some of them, I’m sure.”

Suddenly fascinated with the exact shade of crimson that his creation was sporting, Dipper mulled the idea over. Much as it was in Bill’s nature to lie (and lie, and lie, until the truth was probably obscure even to himself) Dipper couldn’t help but feel that this was genuine. 

“You’re overthinking this,” the demon grumbled, scrubbing out yet another line of monochromatic red and redrawing it. “I’ll show you, if it really bothers ya that much.”

“Would you?” Dipper muttered apprehensively, cleaning his hands off on a nearby patch of grass. “I guess I’m up for that.”

Bobbing excitedly, Bill watched the teen position himself self-consciously across from him. He’d taken on a slightly white hue in his sudden elation, hat dangerously close to floating off of its own accord. “Pine Tree, this is gonna be _great_ , trust me. We need something to make a deal about… okay, I’ve got it. I want one of your cereal bars.”

“A cereal - ? Okay, well, in return I want you to kill the next animal.” Proffering his arm, Dipper gave the nonverbal command and felt the flame spark up faintly in his palm. Bill took it, and shook it, shivering visibly at what must have been a foreign sensation. It wasn’t often that he was on the opposite end of a deal.

Similarly, the teen gave a sharp gasp at the wash of energy and the thrill that ran, skittering, along his back. Unlike the bizarre hot cold tingle that he was used to, Dipper could only describe the feeling as being akin to eating a full meal or lying in bed on a morning; fulfilling, satisfying, delectable. This must have shown on his face for the triangle was cackling deliriously. Capable of only a weak ‘ _asshole_ ’, the boy sat down and tried to shake off the faint sparks still running over his skin.

“Great, right? Demons love it.”

Watching Bill grasp a cereal bar from the front pouch of his backpack, Dipper covered his face and groaned. That was _freaky_. Stuck in a reverie, he was unprepared for the sight of Bill forming a mouth where his bricks were and throwing the bar in whole, watching with no small amount of horror through splayed fingers. Even so, the completion of one half of the deal made his head spin once more and he lay down.

“‘s weird,” he slurred. “Feels awesome. Not sure I could do this often. Probably addictive.”

“Lightweight.” Bill spluttered, toying with the foil wrapper had dispensed itself from in between his bricks. It looked unopened, but Dipper knew that the food was gone from inside, and tried not to think on it. “You get used to it.”

“Even so, I think I’m ok without,” the teen replied, rubbing his nose absentmindedly. 

(When Bill then killed the next animal a few days later, Dipper had entirely forgotten about the deal and fell over in shock at the unexpected jolt that ran through his system. The demon, naturally, cried with laughter at the sight and mocked him endlessly, but the teen couldn’t bring himself to be properly indignant.)

“We should finish up this spell, PT. You ready?” 

The atmosphere shifted slightly. Bill seemed almost keyed up for it, golden surface flaring noticeably against the black and white backdrop of the world.

Plucking himself up from the ground, Dipper gulped slightly and resituated himself in front of the spell. He then set down a singular candle in the middle of the runes, lighting it with a vacant thought. Then, grabbing the knife again, he set down a rustic wooden bowl in front of him and glanced feebly at the demon; if Bill noticed his misery, he ignored it, choosing to giggle madly and summon a trussed up deer to the courtyard. 

“Where did you get that?” the teen yelped, noting the way that the creature struggled against faintly glimmering bonds.

“The deets aren’t important, Pine Tree. Just do the spell already.”

Dipper grumbled. “Why do I have to use my blood for this bit? We still have plenty from the bird.”

“If we’re gonna get you to do this right, then you need to be physically involved, kid. It’s not that difficult to work out - blood magic tends to need a personal touch. We could’ve just used your blood for the whole thing, but I doubted that you wanted to lose too much. I was being _considerate_.”

Still doubtful, the teen pointed the tip of the blade to his palm and (only hesitating for a moment) struck it downwards, crying out at the sensation of cool steel against his skin. Viscous, black drops wept from the cut and he shakily lifted his hand over the bowl, watching them merge together at the bottom, coalescing into a gory puddle. Thankful that he’d memorised the Latin beforehand, he began to mutter the spell. ‘ _Evaginabo animae. Evaginabo animae, et consumet eam._ ’

As he spoke, the lines began to glow, as did the deer. It gave one shuddering breath and fell limp - thin, winding cords of light wound out of it, coalescing to form a bulbous paunch of light. Attempting not to pass out on the bowl, Dipper watched Bill gather up the soul and consume it (far more literally than he’d expected). Jolts of power shot through his frame and the teenager gasped slightly at the burning sensation under his skin, the fever of his magic suddenly even more sickly than before. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Bill indulged in a moment of revelry, setting himself ablaze in an inferno of cobalt before calming.

“Nothing like a good ol’ animal soul to warm you up! And now you have a deer. We both win!”

Dipper did not _want_ a deer. Trying desperately to bandage the wound on his palm, he was less than cheerful about his supposed ‘gain’ and he kept shaking violently; the sweltering hum under his skin made his muscles jolt painfully from time to time. It was only after a few minutes of cursing under his breath that the teen noticed the unimpressed look that Bill was giving him.

“W-what?” he stammered, wincing faintly as the demon grabbed his injured hand. 

“Stupid meatsack. Did that really fuck you up this much? You have magic, kid. Why bother with bandages?”

Blinking, Dipper realised that what Bill said was true - physical healing techniques were obsolete now, weren’t they? In his jumbled state the teen hadn’t even considered that. His mind had just registered _blood_ and _pain_ and _staunch the flow_ and he’d acted based upon that primal instinct. Blushing faintly, he whispered an abashed ‘ _sano_ ’ and felt the cut close up. Only a faint scar remained to mark the event.

Bill rolled his eye. “Don’t take it so personally, Pine Tree. Humans are deficient in basically everything, so I don’t expect much from your addled brains. Mind you, it is PRETTY EMBARRASSING for your species as a whole that even the smart ones are still shamefully dumb.” 

Attempting to ignore it, Dipper just lay on his back and coughed. “I feel sick.”

“If you’re gonna do that, then do it now, before ya clean this lot up.”

He wasn’t sick. The rising sensation of discomfort died down after a few moments and the teen waved a lazy arm over the spell, muttering ‘ _tergo_ ’ as he had heard Bill do in the past. Maybe it wasn’t the right spell to do - apparently direction based, a neat strip of the ground was scoured thoroughly, including the deer. The demon had mentioned something about ‘removing what was considered waste’. Now the dead animal had been halved with a perfectly clean cut, leaving the front and end to bleed quietly onto the flagstones.

“Wow. Nice job, kid. Really.” Bill sighed drolly, wiping the rest away himself. “Can’t be lazy with magic, kiddo.”

“Shut up.” Then, thinking better of it, Dipper threw an arm over his eyes. “Just… is there ever going to be a session where I don’t end up exhausted or terrified for my life?”

“Probably not!” the demon replied cheerily, toying slightly with the dead bird still lying a few feet away. 

“Stellar.” Checking that everything was adequately clean (and increasingly wary of the time) the teen began to pack up his possessions and attempt to remove the incidents of the day from his mind. The streak of crimson down his front had congealed unpleasantly; it receded with a brief word but he still felt... sullied. Maybe he had thought that too blatantly, as Bill suddenly began to laugh hysterically and patted the human on the shoulder.

“Ah, you crack me up, Pine Tree! You can definitely stay my eternal slave when I finally wreck this joint.” The demon shoved him out of the Mindscape, leaving Dipper to blink in surprise at the brightness of reality. ‘ _Seriously. Keep this up and I’ll find room for you somewhere in my plan for world domination. Aside from, y’know, setting it in motion._ ’

‘ _You assume I even want that._ ’ Dipper picked his way carefully through thickets in the gathering darkness. ‘ _Maybe I’d rather fight you._ ’

‘ _Whatever, kid. I know you, probably better than you know yourself. You’d definitely consider it._ ’

 _‘I… sure. Sure I would._ ’ Even though Dipper was trying his hardest to sound sarcastic, and uncomfortable prod of doubt had wormed its way into his mind, whispering something about ‘playing it safe’ and sticking with the ‘winning side’. No - he was only doing this because he had to. To protect his family. 

He was doing this to save them.

***

Late that night, Dipper clutched at his pillow and sniffled gently, trying to hold back the prickling tears behind his eyes. The pervasive sensation of Bill’s magic was particularly powerful for some reason, and it was keeping him awake, a thin film of what appeared to be faint light alighting from his visible skin. Only he would be able to notice it, hopefully - none of his family was attuned to magic as he was, and it had garnered no reaction when it had first appeared at dinnertime.

Still. He couldn’t sleep. Every time he tried to close his eyes and drift off the image of himself bowing, and his own maddened smile, moved to the forefront of his mind and refused to budge. At this point, his veritable flush was a secondary issue.

He rolled onto his side and sobbed lightly, throwing his blankets to the floor.

‘ _For the record, I hate you._ ’

To his surprise, Bill replied promptly. ‘ _Shocker. What’s bothering you, kid?’_

‘ _Your stupid magic, it’s -_ ’

“Dipper?” 

Mabel sounded about as tired as Dipper felt, and he turned to see her sat on her bed, bleary eyed. As usual, she looked faintly worried. When that had become a constant, he wasn’t sure, but he really didn’t like it. It meant that he wasn’t being discreet enough. 

Clearing his throat, he offered a wan smile. “Yeah, Mabes?”

She twiddled her thumbs, eyes scanning the floor. “You were talking to yourself again, bro-bro.”

“Again?”

Rubbing at her cheek in agitation, Mabel gave Dipper the most unimpressed look that he’d seen on her yet. “Yes, again. You’ve been talking in your sleep for like, a week now. It’s getting annoying.”

Damn. His mind offered up a slightly vague memory of his twin moving to sleep on the couch a few nights ago, colourful curses slipping out of her mouth. What did he say? Hopefully nothing incriminating.

“Oh. Well. Lots of people talk in their sleep.” He paused. “What - what do I say?”

“Nothing distinct, mostly. Sometimes you talk about plans and ‘the eyes’. They come up pretty frequently… but other than that, it’s babble.”

“Sorry. I had no idea. I’ll try to keep my trap shut in the future.”

She watched him for a moment, before flopping back onto her pillows and pulling her duvet over her torso. Dipper found that the diversion in focus had allowed his magic to simmer down a bit and he curled in on himself gratefully, passing out before he could hear his sister sniffle quietly and write a scratchy note to tell Stan and Ford about her worries.

***

Ford stumbled into the house with a slightly horrified expression on his face, gloves stained liberally with blood. Pacing quickly to the lounge, he found his family gathered there, all watching some backdated episode of Ducktective and arguing loudly about some plot point or other. Well. Mabel and Stan were. Dipper was looking at the floor with a lonesome and slightly frantic expression colouring his face - it was a recognisable one as of late, which always seemed to morph into a fond smile just as the Grunkle thought he might disclose his worries.

Dipper was a closed book. So was Ford - it was something that was perfectly understandable. Yet recently… it had been less of a ‘closed’ and more of a ‘chained and bound’. Somehow, the boy had regressed back to his mental state of several years ago, and with no obvious catalyst it inspired a slight despair in Stanford Pines.

He’d watched the kid fight it and gradually make steps forward, but if he could so easily lose all of his progress, then there was no certainty that there’d ever be a full victory.

Ford couldn’t imagine a life like that.

But he digressed. Clearing his throat slightly, his brother and great niece glanced over curiously, Dipper slowly moving his hand to his cheek and staring. Twin looks of disgust grew on the former two at the sight of his appearance. 

“I’ve been out in the forest, and I have reason to believe that somebody is performing animal sacrifices.”

His great nephew’s eyes ballooned in terror at the statement. An intelligent fear to have, really - Ford was also aghast at the prospect of his family being around a cultist of some breed. Opening up his bag, the man drew a carefully wrapped dead bird from inside and held it out in his two palms. Mabel gave a rattling gasp. “The poor birdy!” she whispered, walking up to see the damage and flinching at the way that its stomach had been slit. 

“Poor birdy, indeed.” Ford cast his sights on Dipper. “You need to be careful out there. It’s not just the supernatural who can be monsters, boy.”

Did his great nephew laugh at that?

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was like pulling particularly determined teeth. It just did not want to happen, but lo, I persevered and now you have more sin! The new summary is hopefully more indicative of the content. Also - tagged this with BillDip because it kind of is, even if it's just in a platonic sense. Whether or not it becomes romantic is mostly down to you readers (although it wouldn't be a major theme at all). Any feedback on that would be much appreciated. If you feel like pestering me, or just talking about Gravity Falls in general, my tumblr is for-personal-reasons.
> 
> SONG: 'Meet Me In The Woods' by Lord Huron


	7. Family and Friends

This time, Ford was not taking ‘no’ for an answer.

Achingly aware that the woods was now Bill’s domain in his mind, Dipper followed his Grunkle along one of the tour paths and clutched the Journal to his chest, wishing that there had been some suitable excuse for turning down a trip. He sensed that Ford was growing desperate - every night for the past week there had been offers to play ‘What Could Go Wrong?’ on an evening. Mabel loved that game and as such she always wanted to play. Dipper, on the other hand, would simply shake his head apologetically and go upstairs to study his notes on what Bill was teaching him.

They lived underneath the loose floorboard with his other contraband possession and the magic book. It was the one hiding place even his sister didn’t know about, and he frequently went to check on them under the guise of taking his medication. Today had been one of those rare days without a trip with Bill or work, and the teen was relieved to have the chance to relax for once. Maybe read up on some more of his studies. Feel like it was holidays for the first time in a while.

Then his great uncle had told him that they were going to go out and study something.

Stupid family.

At least he didn’t have a headache. He supposed that was a positive - there wouldn’t be a repeat of the time some years before.

“Keeping up, Dipper?”

“Yeah.” Anything beyond basic english seemed like a drag. He tripped over and gasped.

It was all Dipper could do to not outright scream as he recognised the area they were walking in. He’d not been to visit the nymphs for a good year at least, and he’d forgotten that the corner of the temple was visible from the main path. Astonishing that he’d never explored it before. As Ford neared it, a warning glow of magic obscured the marble structure from view. It protected itself.

Smart. 

Taking shifting glances at the trees around them, Dipper noted the occasional wink of an eye among their boughs and knew that Bill would be watching from the Mindscape somewhere. Indeed, the only reason that they hadn’t arranged to meet that day was due to a backlog of nightmares that was building up for the dream demon to deal with. In his own words, “putting so much into one measly human sure cuts into your time!”

Dusting off his knees from the fall, the teen thanked the stars that Bill probably wouldn’t be bothering him with the intrusive thoughts that plagued his waking hours. In a way, they were enjoyable - voicing thoughts and judgements that Dipper would normally squash in shame, and giving him something to laugh about. It was definitely less lonely than when his mind was allowed to roam untethered. But he had as of yet to master responding internally, and didn’t want to worry his family further.

“You okay there, Dipper? Very quiet today.” Standing in wait, his great uncle was looking the boy up and down with a doubtful eye.

“I’m fine.” Ghost sensations of his bag chafed at his shoulders and made him shiver, checking that he hadn’t, in fact, brought it. “Tired, I guess.”

They set off walking again. “You know that’s not what I meant. Good day, bad day?”

 _Well, no actually, I had no idea what you meant because you didn’t flipping specify._ “Middling. Nothing extreme either way.” Dipper’s internal monologue continued with a _not like Stan asked me that exact question this morning with you in the room, not at all._

“Fair enough. Good to have you with me on a trip, boy, it’s only so fun searching on your own... Now, the nymphs are a distinctly odd sub-species of...” 

Allowing the lecture to continue unheard, Dipper turned his attention to the forest. It really was gorgeous out here; unlike the rest of Gravity Falls it wasn’t swelteringly hot, shaded by the jutting branches of the native trees and the cool touch of ground level shrubs. The air wavered slightly in a cool breeze, smelling faintly of bark and rich, aromatic earth which one became accustomed to after staying out for too long. He couldn’t comprehend how he’d gotten through past summers being barred from this place. 

“Okay, Dipper, I’m sure you remember the correct etiquette. The clearing is through here.”

Through a gap in the dark oaks, a soft light was visible and the startings of bright grasses peeped out. The contrast between the woods and the clearing was astonishing; the darkness that had previously enveloped the pair was replaced by a searing white sunlight and veritable heat. Covering several square yards of land, a pool of clear blue water was being constantly replenished by a small waterfall of rocks. Each edge was clumped with reeds and wildflowers. Dipper recognised some of them as plants he had gathered for Bill.

Taking care not to tread too heavily on the fine grass, the teen breathed in the magic-saturated atmosphere (which had a distinct smell he couldn’t place) and stepped up to the edge of the water, wincing at the flashes of sunlight reflected by the shimmering surface.

A nymph (a tiny, wingless fae, tanned and scantily-clad) skirted around the edge of the pool and chittered up at them. “It is the grey one!” it piped, prompting a flurry of movement from nearby reeds. “And it is - a blue one?”

Ford glanced at Dipper, evidently confused as he wasn’t wearing anything blue that day. Suspecting it to be magic related, the teen shrugged and laughed awkwardly. 

In the moment that passed, a cluster of no less than thirty nymphs had gathered at the edge of the waters and were arguing in their high-pitched voices about the ‘blue one’. Becoming heated, one small body was flung into the middle of the pool by tiny, angered hands, and a few more became physically violent, biting and scratching at each other.

Calmly, Ford lowered himself down and knelt. “We’re only here to talk to you.”

The first nymph considered this and held up a hand, stalling the brawl. “We will talk to you. We are not too certain about the blue one.”

“Why not, don’t you recognise him?” 

“We do… it is just that we also know of this blue, and we do not like it, sir.” Demonic energy. Of course nymphs wouldn’t like it - Dipper remembered that they stuck to the neutral and good side of magic, as a rule. “We were talking of it.”

“That much was clear.” The elder man was now definitely staring at his great nephew, who shuffled uncomfortably and coloured heavily. “We brought the customary gift.” Splaying his six fingered hand, Ford offered a sprig of evergreen and a selection of berries from around the shack. Tapping at its rounded face, the nymph turned to its fellows and struck up a fast conversation.

“For those...” the nymph turned and pointed at the offering. “For those, the grey one can stay. But the blue one has to go. We are not liking him.”

Somewhat offended, but not remotely surprised, Dipper shrugged and scratched at the back of his neck, waving one hand at his Grunkle as he made to leave. “You stay. They obviously don’t want me around, so I’ll just… go.”

“Dipper, sit back down, now. This is ridiculous. Let me ask them why, I can work it out-”

“No!” The teen realised he may have sounded too panicked and regulated his tone, shaking his head. “No, it’s fine. I wouldn’t look too far into it. Nymphs are changeable, right? Best friends one day, mortal enemy the next? I’m sure it’s fine.”

Ford still wasn’t convinced. “Well, I suppose, but… Nevermind.” He sighed and pulled out Journal 4. “I’ll see you later, Dipper.”

“Later, Grunkle Ford.”

Hurrying back to that Shack to make the most of the rest of the day, the teen hoped beyond hope that his Grunkle wouldn’t continue the line of thought that they had parted on. For Sixer to work out what Dipper had been doing with his time via _nymphs_ of all things - he wasn’t sure that he’d live it down. Bill wouldn’t let him hear the end of it. He’d made it this far, at least.

***

“You are now no longer a completely useless sack of meat, Pine Tree! Congratulations!”

Once more standing at the bottom of the altar steps and still smarting from the events with the nymphs the day prior, Dipper rolled his eyes. Bill had prompted a flurry of confetti to burst from nowhere and cover a good acre of the forest, coating every inch of foliage in small rice paper shapes varying from stereotypical hearts to anatomically accurate cadavers. Thankful that the demon’s magic only had a minor effect on reality outside of the Mindscape, the teen flicked a paper horseshoe from his shoulder and tried his best to look entirely unimpressed. Judging by the way that Bill crossed his arms, he was managing it very well.

“Aw, don’t be like that, kid. It was a 100% gen-u-ine compliment you just got! Your basic magic training is done. You got the ground stuff down way faster than I anticipated - we’re gonna get you kitted out!”

Confused, the teen planted himself on one of the steps and shuffled his backpack around on his shoulders. “I thought I’d already done that?”

Rolling his eye, Bill projected an image of an evergreen tree on his front, expanding to show it to be a sizeable plant. “Not like that, PT, this isn’t physical stuff. This is getting you some backup magic of your own! Consider it a party, a celebration of the two week anniversary of me blackmailing you!” 

“You blackmail me literally _every_ time we meet up,” Dipper grumbled, but he smiled. “Good thing I have an aptitude for this magic stuff, huh.”

The demon bobbed up and down in his version of a nod, thoughtfully tapping at his cane. “Time is of the essence, Pine Tree. Summer doesn’t last forever.” He glanced playfully at the human, who flinched at the thought of going back home, going away from all the intrigue. “That’s important in every alternate timeline. Once, it caused the apocalypse.”

Rubbing at his eyes, Dipper hummed, still tired from multiple nights of reading his magic book under the thin light of his old torch. So long as Mabel believed that he was merely perusing the Journals, he was good - thankfully, he’d not vocalised the fact that he knew the books inside out now. The Journals were an increasingly superfluous focus of his life.

They did help to pull the wool over the eyes of his family.

“We gonna go to that tree, then?” the teen yawned. “I think I recognise it.”

“You got it, PT. It’s not far, half a mile north maybe? Wait, shit-” Bill snapped his fingers and the confetti disappeared. “Right. You walk, I’m gonna hang about in the Mindscape and watch. Give you a bit of freedom, eh?”

With that, Dipper was pushed back into reality, almost disappointed to find that the golden glow of Bill was gone. It was increasingly comforting the more he got used to it. Pulling out his phone, a compass app quickly directed him due north. One short trek through the dense shrubs and the human was stood at the base of the biggest tree he’d ever seen. Dropping his backpack on the floor, he circled the trunk with one hand on his hip.

“What am I doing with this thing?”

_‘Getting power. All you have to do is kill the tree and you’ll take on the latent magic stored inside.’_

“So… what, do I just burn it?”

_‘Ignis aureum kid, just like you learned. Now burn that mother!’_

Uncertain, Dipper ducked down to the base of the trunk and placed his palms against the bark, noting the thick ridges and a carved eye beneath his thumbs. It seemed such a shame to destroy something that had lived for so long without any disruption. Maybe that was why Bill wanted him to do it - it was surely easier to kill a tree than it was to kill a bird, or a deer. Or a person. 

His magic twisted into the life force of the tree as he leant his forehead against the rough surface. Pure power radiated within its sap. _‘I can feel it. It’s… alive.’_

_‘No shit, PT. It’s a tree, of course it’s alive.”_

_“That’s not what I meant, asshole. It has personality. I don’t know if I can kill something so inherently good.”_

_“Not ‘good’, just ‘neutral’. Honestly kid, if you don’t get on with this I’m just gonna burn it myself.”_

_“Right. Right, sorry.”_ Dipper heaved a sigh and splayed his fingers, channeling his energy and pooling it right at the tips. Once it felt like they were on the verge of bursting aflame (an unpleasant sensation to say the least) he whispered the spell. Ten separate sparks started up and licked at the wood hungrily. The fire quickly took to covering his palms, and devoured the outer bark.

Drawing his hands away, Dipper watched the light flare around the tree’s girth and winced at the mournful hum it exuded. Logically, it shouldn’t have burned so quickly; it charred to blackened ash within minutes as strands of pale white magic fed themselves into the teenager. He had backed off and was slumped against another pine, mesmerised and afraid in similar quantities. Even though the fire licked at the branches of the surrounding foliage, it didn’t swallow them. Dipper wondered if he was doing that subconsciously or if this was some ritual that he was unaware of.

He sensed Bill’s presence nearby. _‘You around?’_

_‘Just watching from the Mindscape. It’s an impressive sight.’_

The teen supposed it must be. Thin strands were now coalescing into visible ribbons of pulsing power, which gathered and shone faintly through the skin above his heart. Light seeped through his veins and the gap between his lips. 

“Gosh,” he whispered. “It’s sad. But it’s beautiful.”

_‘Remember PT, you need to backlog this stuff.’_

_‘How do I do that?’_

_‘Just create a metaphorical back shelf in your mind and place it there. It’s pure magic, so it won’t respond to your command as easily as mine, but you’ll have an extra store for emergencies.’_

_‘What do you mean, it won’t respond because it’s ‘pure’?’_ Dipper felt vaguely offended. _‘I thought my personal magic would be dark blue?’_

_‘Yeah, I did say that, but that was before you performed animal sacrifices.’_

_‘Fairs.’_

Dipper tried to follow Bill’s instructions. Whatever he did, it seemed to work, as the demon gave a satisfied hum of approval and the magic channeling through his body slowly phased out. It was still there, thrumming away, only now it was contained. Far more powerful than the teen had expected.

Oh yeah, death was particularly potent. He’d forgotten about that.

The fire had finally completely petered out, the tree now reduced to a sizeable scattering of ash and the scent of ozone which clung to Dipper’s clothing. Although it was particularly strong, he found that the smell was familiar. 

_‘Ozone. The smell of magic, kid. And the atmosphere is saturated with it! That’s why your planet stinks of the stuff.”_

“I’m pretty sure the explanation is a lot more complex and scientific than that, Bill.”

_‘Fight me, Pine Tree.’_

“Already have; don’t feel like it.” Dipper quipped, standing up and brushing dust from his flannel. “Nice try though.”

“Dammit.” The demon sprang into being and stilled the world, eye curved in amusement. Fluffing Dipper’s hair, he flew and sifted his tiny fingers through the dust on the ground, bobbing up and down in approval. “That was the oldest tree in the wood,” Bill informed Dipper casually. “It’s been stockpiling energy for hundreds of years, and in a place like good ol’ Falls it’s got a surplus!”

The words _‘LOOKS LIKE YOU’VE GOT A SURPLUS’_ rang in the teen’s mind, not a message, but a memory that made him shiver. He frowned.

“Don’t look so down, Pine Tree!” Bill giggled. “Your family member died for a good cause.”

“Oh my _god,_ ” the teen sighed. “You are so not funny.”

Squinting, the demon squared up and flew at Dipper at high speed. Not expecting a sentient triangle to suddenly thwack into his front, the teenager fell over into the dirt with a scream. No less than seven small black hands hovered at his sides and under his arms.

“Bill - what are you -”

Cackling fervently, the demon began to tickle the human without mercy, prompting Dipper to lapse into hysterical laughter. “Not funny, eh, kid?” Unable to reply, one hand weakly attempted to push the triangle away and failed as Bill pushed it down with another unnatural appendage. “You seem to think I’m hilarious!”

Dipper was pleading amidst his laughs. “B-bill, _please s - stop_ , I c-can’t _breathe_ -”

“Can’t hear you, kid! You’re laughing too much!” There was definite mirth in his tone, a slightly childish sound.

“G-gods, Bill, I’m gonna _p-pass out,_ mercy, _merc-y!_ ”

Eventually the hands retreated. The teen rolled onto his side and gave a few weak giggles, coughing heavily at the sudden onslaught of oxygen available to his lungs. A giddy feeling was rising in his mind; he batted the worried arm of his master away from his face and righted himself with one swift movement. Bill’s telltale yellow had softened slightly and tinged pink with exertion. After muttering something about never mentioning the previous events to any living soul, the triangle flared gold.

“I don’t like you,” Dipper huffed.

Bill twirled his bowtie. “You love me, PT. It’s my natural charm.”

Shrugging his backpack over his shoulders, the teen couldn’t help but huff a slight agreement. “Maybe you aren’t as awful as I initially believed. So you manipulate, blackmail, and violate the privacy of people. But you can be okay. I guess.”

“ _I guess,_ ” the demon mocked, rolling his eye. “Admit it. You find me fun.”

“I find you fun in the same way that I find running away from a pterodactyl fun. Hardly a resounding endorsement, Cipher.”

“It’s still something. I was a friend to Sixer before I was his enemy, yanoo. No reason that we couldn’t have a similar deal going.” Possibly trying to seem more genuine, Bill’s voice calmed from its usual clamour of chiming gravel to one, moderately pitched tone.

Trying to squash the part of him that was fascinated by the idea, Dipper played with his hands. “Yeah, but he thought you were good, or moral, in some way. He didn’t like the real you.”

The Mindscape around Dipper fizzled and flickered, image of a crumbling castle appearing before his eyes. Even in monochrome, it was evident that there wouldn’t be much colour to the structure; the walls were shaky and indented from years of abuse. Codes were scrawled over every visible surface, as well as gouged out images of triangles and eyes. As quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, imprinted in Dipper’s mind.

“Your Mindscape, kiddo.” Bill sounded oddly reverent without his normal reverb. “Sixer may have worried about that moral junk, but you don’t need to.”

“What, because it’s so messed up?” 

“No, Pine Tree. Because IQ’s Mindscape is a _field_ , and yours is a castle. I need people who’ve got a grey enough morality to side with me. You’ve got the flair, the vision. And yeah, you’re a bit messed up. Capiche?”

“Is this an offer of… what, friendship?” A bubble of surprise rose in Dipper’s throat.

The demon shrugged. “If you wanna call it that, then sure. Friendship. Whaddya say?”

Dipper nibbled at his lip.

***

When Mabel awoke to an empty bed across from her for the umpteenth time, she decided that something needed to be done.

Tiptoeing down the stairs, she found the kitchen also conspicuously vacated and huffed in frustration. No Stancakes this morning, evidently. Her niggling fears were making her anxious, and she whipped up a batch of Mabel Juice in record time yet barely noticed the speed. Plugging a few plastic dinosaurs down at the bottom of the jug, she shook it up and went to the table, drinking straight from the spout.

Yeah. It was one of _those_ days. When Mabel Pines drank an entire jug of her nightmare concoction, then there was something afoot.

Stupid brother. On occasion she wondered if he’d made a deal to take all of the stress and damage of the past few years onto himself and allow her to live a peaceful life. Outwardly (and inwardly, for the most part) Mabel was genuinely fine. She’d been freaked out by the supernatural, sure, but she’d had friends and comfort to keep her mind from submerging it too heavily into the world that her Grunkle had led them to.

Dipper wasn’t like that, and had dealt with everything alone. Introversion and mental scarring tended to better one another, given the chance, so he’d hidden and felt the grasp of demons under his skin until necessity pushed him into the open and he admitted that he had a problem. Which had then prompted Mabel to start her research.

She hated it.

It sounded selfish, put like that, to suggest that her brother’s suffering could be in any way a problem for her to complain about. But she was selfish. Almost every Pines was ultimately fairly self-interested, including Mabel, and she’d long since accepted that the selflessness that Stan and Dipper fairly exuded would never be a virtue that she could boast. It was being worked on. She loved people, and hoped that her love would lead to something akin to altruism.

If the brief spat with unicorns a year ago had taught her anything, it was that outward good didn’t mean all that much without genuine motivations.

Huffing at the pit of hunger in her stomach, she rooted around in the cupboards until she found something vaguely bread-like and munched on it thoughtfully, passing by the coat rack as she went to get dressed. Dipper’s parka was still there. Odd. In fact, the door was still locked from the inside, suggesting that he’d done what he had perfected a few summers ago and climbed out the window.

Could this boy be any _less_ conspicuous? 

Out of habit, she checked to see that his medication was sat on the table before getting dressed. It was. Heaving a sigh of relief, a tension that she hadn’t even noticed fell away from her shoulders and Mabel shrugged on her new shooting star sweater. For luck.

She needed to talk to her family.

There was the hum of chatter from the spare room. It had been given up by Soos (who now stayed in an apartment with Melody) and given back to Ford. His initial reaction had been one of slightly insincere gratitude, as the amount of random trinkets littered around reminded him a bit too much of whatever life he had left behind, but he quickly reclaimed the room and truly made it his own. 

His first action had been to throw the glass pyramid to the floor and enjoy the heavy shattering sound.

Now the bedroom was dark, and musty, simple bed sat in one corner. More central were a selection of old armchairs and tasteful oak furniture, as well as a few cabinets and wardrobes. It was one of the few rooms in the shack that had been completely stripped of triangles. A packed desk crowded the furthest corner of the room, with newspaper articles in tiny print pasted over a piece of cork board. Thin red lines of string connected certain points. An overflowing wastepaper bin next to the desk winked with stares of many pencil Bill Ciphers. Everything smelt faintly of summoning crystals and wood.

Stanley was stood in the middle of the room; fez clutched in his hands, his posture screamed ‘stress’. His twin was handling a kettle with shaky hands. Discussing Dipper in muted tones, they only noticed Mabel when she eventually coughed.

Mabel stood nervously in the doorway, casting an eye over her Grunkles and their own uncertain gazes. Ford cleared his throat and motioned for her to enter.

“Is he - “

“In the forest? Yeah.” The female twin took a seat and kicked her legs forward and back. “Is he… is he getting worse again, do you think?”

Ford pressed a mug of tea into her hands (muttering something about ‘tea always making things better’) and thoughtfully supped on his own, reclining in a cushioned seat. “That’s the question, now isn’t it? There’s always the chance that this is what Dipper has always needed - some time out to rediscover the world. I did try that method when he was younger but it didn’t have much of an effect.”

“The kid’s talking to himself, Stanford, this ain’t just some ‘self-healing exercise.’ I wouldn’t mind him disappearing into the woods from time to time. Used to do it all the time when he was twelve.” Stanley was pacing back and forth over the carpet. “Even when th’kid was at his worst he wasn’t doing this. Makes me wonder.”

“I don’t know, Lee -”

“Look. Don’t wanna rush to conclusions. I get that. But he looks _afraid_ half the time, and guilty the rest. ’m almost starting to miss when he was only tired.”

Mabel had drunk all of her tea at high speed, focusing on the words exchanged and trying to unravel whatever was going on. Should she tell them about going to steal from the study…? No, the situation wasn’t that dire just yet. She had promised her bro-bro to keep it under wraps; she would continue to do so until that no longer became a feasible possibility. The two men were still talking heatedly.

“Maybe if you hadn’t made that stupid comment about his therapy -”

“Oh, don’t bring that up again, Lee, that was years ago -”

“- it really made him cut us off, you know, and I thought he might’a finally opened up to us this summer -”

“- and anyway, his high school experience has hardly been stellar -”

“- but now we just seem to be losing him all over again, and with what happened the other day, I don’t know that he’s safe here -”

Prongs of fear digging into Mabel’s heart, she gasped. The twins fell silent and looked expectantly at her, evidently expecting some kind of helpful contribution. “Oh, uh.” She put the cup down on the floor and ignored Ford’s grumpy huff. “I thought you said that what happened with the medication was an accident. Dipper said it was an accident.”

Patting one hand calmly on the girl’s shoulder, Stanley nodded. “It was, I’m sure he didn’t mean to scare us like that. Fact remains that he did it. Fact remains that a kid who was bordering suicidal a few years ago ran off with a load of pills and didn’t tell anyone that he was going.” Both Ford and Mabel flinched. “I know it’s not a nice thing to think about, but we gotta get him back to us before something worse happens.”

Stanley paused to cough, face red. “If that means sending the kid home… then it means sending the kid home. Don’t like the fear in his eyes. Or the excitement, for that matter. Chances are he’s in over his head with something.”

“I was going to tell you - he talks in his sleep,” Mabel interjected. “That’s why I was looking for you two anyway.”

“ _There are a kind of men so loose of soul, that in their sleeps will mutter their affairs…_ ” Ford received two confused sets of eyes on him, and flushed. “Othello. Sorry. Couldn’t resist. What does he talk about?”

“Generally… It’s nothing distinct, but he’s either excited or afraid. There’s this repeated thing about ‘eyes’? And trees? I dunno.”

Ford blanched. 

“What? What’s wrong?”

“ _Shit._ ” It wasn’t often that the Grunkle swore but he did so now, running one six-fingered hand through his hair while the other tapped on the side of his chair. “I think I know what those are. God, I hope I’m wrong. I really do. Because if I’m right…”

Stanley clenched his fists. “What?”

“If I’m right, then Dipper is in far more danger than we know.” Always the master of exaggeration, Ford grabbed his brother’s shoulders and gave a pained stare. Stan shuffled uncomfortably. “Come on Stanley, who do we associate with eyes?”

“Bill,” Mabel whispered, realisation smashing into her. “Oh god, it makes sense.”

“It does.” Of course it had to be Bill Cipher, ruining Ford’s life yet again. Mabel watched as his fist clenched in fury and he grabbed onto a mug like a lifeline. “The nymphs wouldn’t have him around. He’s constantly disappearing, and talking in his sleep...The bird. Maybe - No. We’ll just talk to him. If Dipper is in his right mind, he’ll tell us what’s wrong.”

“How long’s he been out?” Stanley was watching the trees outside as though hoping for his great nephew to magically appear.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“He climbed out of our window before I woke up,” Mabel muttered. “I haven’t a clue.”

“Well then,” Stan said, sounding far braver than he felt. “We can talk to him when he gets back, or tomorrow. Kid probably thinks he’s being sneaky. Nothing we can’t handle.”

***

Dipper got back late.

His head was swimming (oddly happy, maybe too happy) and he barely noticed his family assembled at the dinner table, eating without him. Any hunger forgotten, he made his way upstairs to hide his secrets beneath the floor. Bill was spouting some inane babble in his head about demonic society. He laughed at one particularly bizarre custom and gave a coy reply, ignoring the splinters that dug into his palm as he skirted it over the wall.

Mabel heard the attic door shut and furiously threw her fork at the edge of the table. The bendy metal hit oak and warped out of shape, pinging off to land somewhere behind her and no doubt cause extreme pain to a foot in the future. Stan offered a comforting hand, which she took. “We’ll talk to him. Tomorrow. I promise it, kid.”

“You have to,” she grumbled, tears pricking at her eyes. “I’m not losing my brother to Bill Cipher. Not again.”

Somewhere upstairs, Dipper was doodling a triangle in the corner of his journal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHICH LOSER GOT A LAPTOP FOR CHRISTMAS? THIS ONE! Now that I can actually work on Gold outside of the weekends, the updates should be more frequent - or at least more reliable, and if what's going on right now doesn't seem to make sense (and it shouldn't) then just know all will be cleared up very shortly. I went through and added a song to each chapter's notes. If you like Gravity Falls-esque music, these are my recommendations. Also: a sequel is slowly coming to life! We'll see what goes on there.
> 
> As ever, thank you so much for reading. If you're one of my commenters, then know that your kind words keep my future hopes and dreams alive. 
> 
> SONG: 'Silhouette' by Owl City


	8. And He Laughed

When Dipper awoke, he found that a genuine smile graced his face for the first time in many months. Memories of the day prior flooded in as he rose from his bed, smacking his lips at the gross taste of sleep in his mouth, casting a careless thought about his sister aside. Padding out of the room, he snuck into the bathroom and grabbed at his blue toothbrush. Hah. Blue. Mabel’s pink one sat solitary as he brushed his teeth.

They seemed to shine particularly bright that morning, and he grinned at the mirror. His reflection beamed back. Flecks of gold sparkled in his brown eyes where a mixture of sunlight and cheer bounced off.

Overall, he admitted that he wasn’t looking his best - the teen seemed distinctly thinner even to his own eye, and his rumbling stomach betrayed the gnawing hunger that had been settling since he awoke. Thick bags sat underneath his eyes, glaring judgmentally. So, he hadn’t been sleeping as much… it wasn’t like it was anything new. Bill had mentioned something about tutoring Dipper in his sleep a few days prior. The offer was looking increasingly enticing; it would allow them to work on projects during the day, rather than holding long lessons in the sweltering sunlight.

Besides, his notebook was already almost full. Notes in his messy, illegible scrawl covered every page save for a scarce few plain leafs at the back, illustrated with neat (but not particularly skilled) images that accompanied the demon’s explanations.

Maybe it was just his magic, but Bill could really _draw_. For all the common caricatures were crude, on occasion the teen would peer up from his work to see the demon sketching idly on the blackboard in white chalk, neatening lines with tiny black digits. Once, he’d caught a glimpse of himself on there, small and staring in wonderment at flames alighting from his hands, before Bill had wiped it clean and berated the teen for turning his attention from his studies.

They’d only had a few proper tutoring sessions and they were already done with the basics.

It was promising.

Swilling water in his mouth and spitting his toothpaste out into the sink, Dipper gave one final wide grin to check his teeth and stepped out onto the landing. He cracked his back and stood on his tiptoes. Today felt like a _good_ day. 

Only taking the time to throw on a dressing gown, he tromped down the stairs; both of his Grunkles were already awake and talking in low mutters. They jumped apart and smiled wanly as he wandered into the kitchen, greeting them with a bright ‘morning!’ and rooting about in the cupboards for something appropriately sugary to fuel his day at the till. His hand hovered over a box of ‘Crispy Decagons - only 3 instances of fatal asphyxiation!’ but eventually plumped for off-brand Lucky Charms. Pouring them into a cracked bowl, he promptly covered them in milk and scooped out a clump, enjoying the crappy taste in spite of the cheapness.

He turned. Both Stan and Ford were outright staring. Looking left and right, Dipper ladled another mouthful and shoved the spoon between his lips. “Wha?”

“Nothing.” Stan sat on a creaking chair, smoothing out his Mr Mystery suit. “You… doing okay? Good day, bad day?”

“ _Great day_ , Grunkle Stan! ‘M really feeling it, you know?” The spoon dangled from his mouth and he smiled widely. “Life’s pretty amazing, y’know?”

If it were possible, the visible disconcert on his great uncles’ features became more pronounced. “Oh?”

“Yep!” He traipsed across the room and leant easily on the counter, finishing the rest of his breakfast at top speed, plucking at the mental link between himself and Bill without saying anything. A few twangs played back in response and he smiled. Maybe the demon had done something to prompt the sudden elated mood that Dipper found himself in - aside from the obvious, of course. Either way, it was appreciated.

“Taken your meds today, Dipper?” Ford cautiously skirted his hand over a local paper, staring long and hard at his great nephew’s eyes. 

If Dipper noticed, he didn’t bring it up, merely looking up at the ceiling in thought. “No, actually, I should probably go do that now. Thanks for the reminder!” Bounding up the stairs two at a time, he tried to ignore the even lower voices that followed his movements. Whatever his great uncles were saying, he didn’t want to know - today was going to be good. He was determined.

Mabel was sat up when he re-entered the room, rubbing at bleary eyes and warily checking her phone for texts from her friends. Her ‘Miss Mystery’ suit was sat on a hanger at the end of her bed, and she looked even more tired than she usually did on a work day. “Morning, bro-bro.” Her tone was kept light, laced with exhaustion. 

“Good morning, Mabel! Lovely day.”

Noting the way that the lines of the triangular window reflected on her brother’s skin, she gave a removed hum of agreement. “Yeah… lovely.” He basked in the yellow sunlight, stretching out in his dressing gown. “You’re looking… oddly alive, today.”

“Yeah! I woke up feeling great. On which note -” he grabbed his vial of pills and shook them. “Still need to take these.” His full cup of water (which lived perpetually on the table side) was quickly drained. His sister fiddled with her covers in evident discomfort. 

“This is the way you were feeling before your pills? _Must_ be doing well.”

Still bathed in the morning’s golden glow, he turned, grinning like a shark. Stabs of fear prickled at Mabel’s ribs and her face fell. Flashes of the conversation from the day before rose up in her memory. Chances were this wasn’t her brother at all. Chances were, this sudden cheer was the result of something awful. Or maybe both herself and her Grunkles were overthinking the entire thing and seeing problems where none existed.

“Well,” she continued shakily. “Let’s get to work!”

***

Dipper tugged slightly at his Mystery Shack shirt and hummed politely, having turned the ‘Beware of Dog’ sign around, much to the amusement of Soos who had passed by and given a quick thumbs up. Now that summer was in full swing, there were more tourists than ever, but for once the teenager didn’t feel stifled by the heavy flow of people coming in and out of the gift shop. Even the sticky stench of bodies that had spent too long in a damp forest didn’t have too much of a negative effect on Dipper. He was determined to be happy. For once.

Cheerily packing up an overpriced snow globe, he felt the familiar prod of Bill nudging at his brain, and smiled inwardly. _‘What’s up?’_

_‘Bored, Pine Tree. I spent a while terrorising an orphanage with horrific nightmares but… I dunno, seems a bit dull. Only so many high-pitched screams you can listen to before it gets awful samey. Nightmares about losing your parents also seemed distasteful, even to me.’_

Snickering, the teen reflected on the fact that this evil being was his choice in friend before serving another customer; it was possible that his smile was becoming more terrifying than welcoming, judging by the way that the woman hurried out of the shop, tote bag in hand.

_‘What do you want me to do about it?’_ Dipper asked, tapping thoughtlessly at the till. _‘I am at work, you know.’_

“Excuse me, sir, could you tell me the price for this?” 

_‘Oh, I dunno, PT. Do you really have to do all that mature bullshit?’_ The demon continued to talk as Dipper passed a shirt through the scanner and informed the man that it was $13 with tax. _‘Can’t you just like… skip out, or whatever?’_

Waving off yet another patron, the teenager was starting to find it difficult to distinguish between what was going on in his mind and what was occurring around him. Sure, he’d vastly improved since the link had initially been established, but at times like this the lack of clarity as to where the real world began and ended proved to be a problem. _‘Sorry, Bill, I have responsibilities - and a wage. Don’t feel like getting on the wrong side of my family today anyway.’_

There was a distinct _‘tch’_ sound. _‘Loser. I may yet change my mind, kid, and decide that we gotta be worst enemies. Or that you have to be my pet. You ain’t in the clear just because I decided to get somewhere close to human kindness.’_

“Whatever,” Dipper muttered, smirking as the last of the customers finally trickled out, making way for the next group of tourists. ‘ _You can threaten me all you want, you overglorified triangle. Fact remains that you wanted to be friends.’_

_‘Did not.’_

_‘How come you were the one that suggested it, then?’_

The violent huff that followed made the teen laugh out loud, prompting Mabel (who was passing through with a box of old books) to jump violently and hurry to exit via the old door. _‘Shut up, Pine Tree. Never should’a said that, if you’re gonna get all up yourself about it.’_

_‘Nice turn of phrase there, Bill. Really lovely.’_

_‘Whatevs, PT. Talk to you in a bit.’_

Deciding not to press the issue further, the dream demon quietened and Dipper happily went about his work, earning a few surprised ‘thank-you’s from the more frequent customers, who had become accustomed to extremely grouchy looks from the teen. Why on the earth the shop had long-time patrons was a question that had been on the mind of the family for years. Did they not realise how severely they were getting duped? Apparently not; a woman he’d served no less than 5 times was visiting _again_ , seemingly stuck choosing between a gnome sculpture and some pungent pine tree air freshener.

During the intervals without the sudden influxes in visitors, he shifted flickering blue flames across his fingers and made the till ping open and shut using his mind. It passed the time; five o’clock came around far faster than it normally did.

Counting out the money at the end of his shift, Dipper looked up to find both Ford and Stan standing awkwardly in front of him. Seeing both of them together in the shop was a rarity; he immediately knew that something must be up. Shifting slightly, he shuffled the notes into one neat pile and put them into the till. “Uh, hi?”

His Grunkles shared a glance. “Dipper… we need to talk to you. Alone.”

The teen thought that he could feel his heart drop through the floor as panic clawed at his throat. Struggling to maintain a calm smile, he nodded and walked through to the kitchen, pushing down at the primal instinct that screamed for him to _get out_ , now and run as far as he possibly could into the forest, where only branches could scratch and draw blood. 

Seating himself silently, Dipper watched Stan and Ford perform an awkward ballet. Eventually they placed themselves down at the table, across from their great nephew, apparently petrified.

“Well. Uh,” Ford floundered. “Lee, start us off, would you?”

Stan glared at his twin. “Why me? You do it.”

Dipper raised an eyebrow.

“I - fine. We’re worried about you.” Ford was blunt as ever, glasses flashing in the light. “Judging by your behaviour, you’re not safe here.”

Attempting to process this, the teen smiled wanly and said nothing.

“Kid,” Stan piped up, “don’t take this the wrong way. We trust you completely. It’s just that you’ve been talking to yourself.” Fiddling with the wood of the table, he gulped, cheeks and eyes red. “You gotta understand - either this is your mental health going downhill, or you’re replying to someone. Please, Dipper, you have to tell us - which is it?”

“I - I don’t -”

“Dipper.” Ford had adopted his ‘no-nonsense’ tone that was usually directed at either Mabel or Stanley. “There’s no time to dither with this. If you’re being used, you have to tell us now, so that we can do something about it. If it’s who I believe it is, then you _have to tell us, now.”_

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Dipper sounded far more certain than he felt, and he gave a defiant kick at the table leg. He probably looked awfully childish, but it gave him a sense of catharsis. “Leave the psychoanalysis to my therapist, okay? I get enough of this at home.”

“You’re walking a damn fine line, kid,” Stan hissed. “Don’t talk to us like that.”

“I don’t want to talk to you at all. In fact, I’m done with this. Send me home, I don’t care.” The teen stood and punted his chair aside, turning to leave.

“Boy, you will sit down _right now_ , or I will call Mabel downstairs and tell her exactly what you did with that bird.”

Dipper stilled, heart thrumming wildly in his chest. Almost mechanically, he swivelled on one foot and perched himself back on his chair, eyes directed solely at the wood of the table. A droplet splashed down; he realised that he was crying. “ _Shit._ ” Rubbing carefully at his face, the teen tried his darndest to look entirely apathetic.

“Interesting, so that _was_ you.” Ford didn’t sound remotely surprised, just a touch crestfallen. “Who made you do it?”

Faintly surprised that Bill hadn’t piped up yet, Dipper shrugged one shoulder and played with the grain of the oak surface. “Nobody. Me. Why’s somebody else gotta be involved?”

Stan sounded horrified. “You ain’t tellin’ us you’re goin’ around killin’ animals for the heck of it, are ya?” The strength of his accent was telling - the old man was shocked, and it was not easy to surprise Stanley Pines. “Kid… please say that’s not true. I know we ain’t the most observant o’ people, but ya aren’t like that.”

Today had been a _good_ day. Dipper could feel that slipping so far out of his grasp, and even if he stretched to reach it, there would be no peace of mind for him again. 

Taking his silence to be acquiescence, Stan stood up and paced back and forth in a short loop, kneading at his forehead. “That’s - that’s messed up. How are we supposed to trust the kid now, Stanford? Clamberin’ out of the window at all hours, slittin’ the guts of some crow for no reason - ”

“Now, now Stanley, don’t jump to conclusions just yet.” Ford’s smile was thin, but triumphant. “Mabel mentioned that you talk about ‘the eyes’ in your sleep. They’re a sign of Bill Cipher’s, they act as a way for him to look in on this world. I used to see them all the time when I was building the portal, and if you’re dreaming about them, then there’s certainly more to this than you’ll say.” The studious Grunkle leaned forward, prompting Dipper to clutch at the arms of his seat. “Are you being contacted by Bill?”

Dipper tried to formulate a ‘no’ but the word merely came out as a shocked gasp, face patently crimson. The elder man knew he’d hit on the truth and shot a smug look at his brother, who seemed both relieved and worried by the confirmation.

Fully acquainted with anxiety attacks, the teen still found that this one crept up on him severely, biting at his ankles before a sharp pain shot through his lower abdomen and up to his heart. Like a knife it twisted there, making him gasp suddenly (and then continue to as his breathing refused to _regulate dammit what better way to get caught than panicking_ ). The pair immediately caught on and Stan swore, violently.

“Shit, I knew this wouldn’t end well - he’s having an anxiety attack, do something -”

“I’m on it, Lee.”

Ford jumped over the table to kneel at Dipper’s side, grasping his hand and muttering to the teen to breathe in time with his instructions, that it was okay and he wasn’t in any trouble, not if he fought this. They could protect him from the demon, he promised, because he knew how and it would all be okay.

What he didn’t realise was that Dipper was desperately trying to get Bill’s attention and was, as such, completely ignoring him.

_‘BILL. BILL. I SWEAR TO GOD, BILL, IF YOU IGNORE ME NOW-’_

_‘Yeeeeesh!’_ Bill’s grating voice was actually soothing. That was a terrifying thought. _‘Calm down, kiddo! What’s bothering you?’_

By now, Dipper was only vaguely aware of the people around him, recognising Mabel’s voice raised in panic alongside the two men. _‘They know. I fucked up. I’m sorry. They know I’ve been contacting you and I don’t know how to throw them off without getting sent home or, or getting put back on the stronger meds again and I really really don’t want to do that Bill, I don’t want them to think I’m getting worse.”_

“Dipper? Dipper, stay with us, c’mon kid -”

_‘We can work it out, PT, there’s nothing that can’t be fixed with a little bit of magic. It’s okay. If Sixer tries to move you back to Snoresville, USA, then I’ll be pretty damn pissed.’_

“I think he’s going to pass out - Focus on my voice, kiddo -”

“I don’t think he’s listening to _us_ at all -” Ford was nigh on growling.

“What’s that supposed to mean - ?”

_‘You may be damn annoying, Pine Tree, but you’re still my apprentice. Nothing’s gonna happen under my watch. Now, if you’re gonna faint - which, by the way, is looking likely - scare the shit out of IQ for me.’_

“Dipper, _please_ , calm down and try this breathing exercise. We can get Bill to go away, you’ll be alright, just -”

“Don’t - don’t want -” The teen was struggling to formulate words, but he needed this said, even if it was only as an admittance to himself. “Don’t _want_ him gone.”

Stunned, Ford dropped his hand as though it had been branded, face tainted by betrayal. “What?” It was odd to hear such an intelligent man sounding so plaintive. Dipper could almost appreciate the role reversal, the switch in power dynamics, if it weren’t for the bubbling sensation in   
his head that preceded trouble. “What do you mean - don’t want him gone? Dipper? _Dipper?”_

The pressure reached the tipping point, and he promptly passed out.

***  
 _  
A sense of regret flickered in Dipper’s subconscious mind._

_“Don’t worry about it, kid. Sure, you weren’t exactly discreet, but it’s nothing we can’t fix. I’m not gonna let you down. Believe it or not, I do actually have some care for you in my nonexistent heart - crazy, right? Heh. You aren’t gonna remember this. Can’t have your head getting any bigger. You’ll turn into Sixer.”_

_The pale hum of Dipper’s mindscape flared golden for a moment._

_“You probably ought to wake up soon. We’ll work on that spell when you’re settled.” There was a slightly mocking laugh. “I should also stop fucking about with your feelings. Couldn’t resist though - your family found it so damn freaky to see you happy! How sad is that? Ah, but I ought to respect you, PT. You’re gonna get a lot of my plans brought to fruition.”_

_A sharp prod, and the teen’s mind slowly began to wake, grumbling and groaning._

_“You’re alright, kid. IQ couldn’t hold a candle to ya.”_

***

The first thing that the teen noticed was that he wasn’t in a hospital, for which he was immeasurably glad. That made life easier.

In fact, the slightly sweaty and muted scent of the attic room was what greeted him, a welcome change from the discomfort of the kitchen. 

Ford was the only one by Dipper’s bedside, although the presence of one of Mabel’s teddybears implied that the others had indeed stopped by. Looking consternated, the elder man cast a glance over the boy and turned his head away, obviously seeing something that he didn’t want to in his great nephew’s awkward body language.

“Boy, Bill isn’t going to be around much longer. I refuse to believe that he isn’t controlling you, he’s more than capable of it. So, tomorrow, we’re going to put a metal plate in for you, just like mine. Had the mind machine worked… well. That’s in the past. You should probably mentally prepare yourself. It will take a while to adjust to the feeling.”

Disgusted by the concept, Dipper felt himself retch and he heaved his torso over the edge of the bed, head still swimming from the impromptu sleep. Animal blood was one thing. His own blood was another entirely. A six-fingered hand patted at his shoulders comfortingly.

“Naturally, you’ll be barred from the woods for a while, and we will be setting up the unicorn hair barrier again. It shouldn’t affect you, I don’t think. We can’t be too careful, though, especially as he seems to have infiltrated your mind to some degree… Whatever your reasons are for this, it’s okay. Likely far more complex than I could hope to work out. I forgive you.”

“That’s nice,” Dipper spat. “But I didn’t ask for your forgiveness. Get out.” 

Ford sighed. “You can’t say I didn’t try. Have a good rest, Dipper.”

Simmering furiously, the teen turned to face the wall and listened for the click of a door shutting before casting a silencing spell; he screamed noiselessly for a while. It was cathartic to wail unrepentantly and know nobody would hear. Ghost sensations of something beneath his skull were already itching, making him want to tear away at his skin. To have a heavy piece of metal behind your _forehead_ … had his Grunkle even bothered to mention this to his parents? Probably not - they would freak out and try to take their son home, for sure. The scars sure would be difficult to explain when September came around.

A few fat tears rolled unbidden down his cheeks. How could his Grunkle stomach the act of cutting somebody open? How did he plan to heal it afterwards? If his link to Bill’s magic was also cut off (and for all Dipper knew, it could be) then he’d be stuck looking like a freaking ‘Frankenstein’s Monster.’ Wouldn’t his classmates just _love_ that? Oh god, would it affect his birthmark? 

Dipper had warmed up to it massively over the past few years. The idea of it getting ruined was almost painful.

He still hated the name ‘Owen’, and the loss of what defined him as ‘Dipper’ was what bothered him most. It could have been worse - apparently, the name ‘Mason’ had been bandied about when he was born - but he still would rather maintain the person he was now.

Kind of. Admittedly, the teen was extremely confused by his feelings about who he was at the moment. He knew that he liked Bill, in a strange sideways sense of the word, and that he was still scared to death of what the dream demon could do. Honestly, he’d always held a sense of intrigue when it came to the sentient triangle. It had merely become an issue that the intrigue could turn into something far more genuine, if it hadn’t already.

It was unhealthy, yeah, and Dipper didn’t much care at that point in time. He had found a goddamn _friend_ in somebody other than Mabel, and he wasn’t going to give that up without a fight.

_‘Bill.’_

_‘Oh good, you’re up! I heard what Fordsy said, about the metal plating. Not the best way things could’ve gone.’_

Dipper snorted, and rolled over. _‘To put it lightly, yeah. So. What’s the plan?’_

_‘The plan?’_ The demon sounded genuinely confused.

_‘To get me out of this. That plan? There’s gotta be something. No way am I having a hunk of metal forced into my anatomy without my consent.’_

Bill was silent for a long moment, and when he replied, a sense of achievement was passed along as well as his words. _‘Really did win you over with that speech yesterday, huh, Pine Tree? Didn’t think you’d be the one proposing to betray your family. But you’re right. There is something you can do, and it should be a cinch.’_

_‘Lay it on me.’_

***

Of course, the plan of action was effectively just a complex spell.

Dictating it via their mental link, Bill was uncharacteristically caring, showing no impatience when Dipper wrote something down wrong or needed a word repeating. The teen reasoned that the demon presumably wanted to maintain whatever nebulous understanding they had come to. There was no reason for him to be so peaceful otherwise.

_‘That’s the latin part, kid,’_ Bill said, watching the final letters of the spell take their place on the page. _‘Do you know what it does?’_

No matter how much Dipper frowned at the words, he couldn’t derive any meaning from them. His eyes had only been adjusted to read the foreign language in the magic book, not latin. _‘No, not a clue. Nothing damaging, right?’_

_‘You ain’t gonna like this, kid, but it allows me passage into a person’s memories. You’re gonna have to go around all three of them and let me fix it up.’_

There was a pregnant pause. Wind whistled through the triangular window and the scent of pines wafted through.

_‘You’re right, I don’t like that.’_ Dipper trusted his own safety with the demon, because he had a certain value within Bill’s eye that made any damage to his person more of a problem than it would be a source of amusement. The same was not true for his great uncles and Mabel. Besides which, he’d seen Bill going through memories before. He’d been reckless. 

_‘I can almost hear those cogs whirring in your head, kid. Don’t you remember our deal? You asked if your family would be affected, and I said no.’_

“Last I checked, ‘affected’ doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re protected.” Catching himself speaking aloud, the teen covered his face with his palms. _‘I - We could make another deal. For all you aren’t the worst creature I’ve ever come into contact with, I still don’t trust you.’_

_‘That’s reasonable. But what do you have that I could possibly want?’_

Aside from his soul, which really wasn’t a feasible or reasonable option, Dipper didn’t really have anything that would interest a dream demon. His body was another thing that Bill would regard as valuable… only the interest in owning that had passed when the teen had found himself indebted to the point of servitude. Bill didn’t need to possess his body when he need only ask the kid to do something and have it done. What else could he possibly-

_‘I have an idea.’_

_‘And what might that be, Pine Tree?’_ Bill had picked up on the slight thrill in Dipper’s tone and responded in kind.

_‘How would you like a physical form? Not a human vessel, but a 100% genuine real-world triangle body?’_

A violent burst of laughter made the teenager almost fall over; it wasn’t a cruel cackle, or the childish noises that had escaped Bill the day before. He sounded legitimately _delighted._ It was concerning, to have Cipher sounding so pleased.

_‘That’s some incredible magic you’re suggesting there, PT. Aren’t you worried I’ll bring the apocalypse with me?’_

_‘Considering I’m already gonna be enacting whatever evil plans you have, not really.’_ Eager to know if he was in the clear, Dipper pressed on. _‘So? Can we do it?’_

The world around him paused, and shifted to monochrome. One extremely smug triangular demon hovered before him, hands on metaphorical hips, looking the teen up and down. “I made a damn good call with you, kid. We can definitely do it. I gotta write up the spell first, though… A physical form! Much as I love the Mindscape, I’m dying to get out of this decaying dimension.”

“We at an agreement? You don’t harm my family - just get me in the clear - and I’ll make you a physical form when it’s possible?”

“Sure thing, kid! Heh. Let’s shake on it!”

Dipper took Bill’s burning hand without hesitation, shaking it firmly thrice and barely noticing the faint sting of feeling along his arm. Something like triumph gleamed in Bill’s eye. Realising what he had just agreed to, the teen gulped, looking at his palm with a wobbly smile.

“Don’t look so worried, kid. Your family is safe now! Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yeah.” A recogniseable rush of fear clutched at his throat. “Really am under your thumb, huh?”

Looking through the notes that the teen had been working on, Bill rolled his eye. “Doesn’t count if you’re aware of it, Pine Tree. All of this was your suggestion, remember? Let’s get on with it.”

Thankful that Bill could halt time in the Mindscape (which he rarely bothered with during lessons), they discussed the finer points of the plan, essentially writing up an edited version of the events of the summer to provide for the family. The event with the medication would have to go - as would the nymphs for Ford - and any instances of Dipper talking to himself would be obscured and other events brought forward in their place.

“See, PT, it’s not a case of getting rid of stuff, just bringing the less important junk forward to make them forget it. The memories will still be there.”

“Could they remember them again, with some kind of… catalyst or whatever?”

The demon tapped at a nonexistent chin and hummed. “A big enough reminder would bring it back. If they find you out again, kid, then that’s it - no amount of fiddling around on my part is gonna make them forget. Not if you want to keep ‘em undamaged.”

Dipper needed to be more careful from now on, then. Nodding tersely, he considered the annotations they had been making (around pictures of the family, trying to work out who needed what changing) and prodded at the little caricature of Ford that Bill had drawn. “What are we going to do about his metal plate? The memory gun wouldn’t work with it, if I remember rightly.”

Ah, that first summer. He’d almost erased everything in his head that year. Fun times.

“That memory gun is junk, kiddo.” Bill preened and drew stink lines rising up from Sixer. “This spell is far more effective, and more nuanced than any piece of crappy tech your great uncle could come up with. It should work fine. Look, here -” a black finger tapped at a line of the spell. “I added this bit for that very purpose.”

“Okay… in which case, I think that’s everything.” Dipper stood and stretched, muttering the latin words to get them to feel comfortable on his tongue. “Now we just wait for nightfall.”

Bill left shortly after, resigning the teen to the fate of being questioned at length by his sister. For all she threatened and cried and threw glitter around, he refused to answer any of her questions. It was almost impressive; she was unused to being ignored for this long, and Mabel was tiring by the time Ford and Stan called the pair down for dinner.

As he ate, Dipper didn’t even attempt to look up from his plate, knowing that he’d merely receive twin stares of aggravation. This whole situation was one hell of a bitter pill - nothing could get him out of his deal… deals (because there’d been a hell of a lot of those now, hadn’t there) and nothing could satisfyingly explain why Dipper hadn’t just asked his great uncle for help in the first place.

He didn’t even know if he regretted that anymore. Suddenly, he knew so much-

“Are you prepared, boy?”

Clutching his fork in a white-knuckled hand, the teen stabbed violently at a potato and shrugged. “Guess so. Hardly like I have a choice, now is it?”

Stan cut across the table and grabbed the salt. “Don’t start this again. Can’t cope with the atmosphere in this place - right, Mabel?”

“It’s really depressing.” She twirled her fork around in her personal bowl of noodles. “I know it’s not a nice thing to think about, but honestly Dipper, we’re just trying to help you out. We miss you.”

“And putting a bloody slab of metal in my head is your way to go about it? Why don’t we just use the memory gun to zap my mental illnesses away, too?” Constant frustration was bubbling up at the back of the teen’s head. “It’d probably be just as effective. Or, you could just make me forget Gravity Falls altogether, I’m sure that would end well- ”

“Stop it!” 

Ford gave a heaving sigh. “We’re going to protect your mind tomorrow, and that will be the end of it. Now eat your dinner.”

***

The clock read 11:49pm, and Dipper decided it was time to enact the plan.

Who to tackle first was the main issue - in his current hormonal state (and he refused to believe his insistent antagonism was anything more than that) he wanted to go for Mabel first and take Ford down last, but that would be stupid. If the family were to realize what he was doing, it’d be much easier to take on a tired sister than an irate Grunkle.

Tiptoeing over the rug of the shop, he slipped through the secret passage behind the vending machine and clambered into the elevator. Ford wasn’t asleep - he checked the spare room and it was empty - so he’d just have to tackle this differently. Not a problem. He had a plan.

Stopping outside the door of the study, Dipper took a grounding breath and pulled the third Journal from inside his vest. Opening the door delicately, the thin yellow light of the elevator pooled into the study. Ford was sat at his desk, intensely focused on a set of surgical equipment. Trying to ignore the sick feeling rising in his chest, Dipper crept up behind him and lifted the book up into the air, breathing the musty atmosphere thinly.

Seeing the shadow of an attacker only seconds too late, Stanford gasped and made to call out. Steeling himself, the teen brought the tome down on the elder man’s temple. Hard. A loud _CLANG_ rang out as solid leather collided with metal and bone.

He slumped down in his chair, and Dipper quickly cleared the desk of the scalpels.

_‘WHAT THE FUCK, KID? I THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO PUT HIM TO SLEEP?’_

Wincing at Bill’s grating screech, the teen opened the Journal to a random page and left it on the desk, as though his great uncle had been perusing it. _‘I needed that, okay? Plus, he’s fine. Not gonna die until he’s ninety four, right?’_

_‘Ninety two,’_ Bill murmured. _‘Well. I was not expecting you to do that. Go ahead with the spell, I guess.’_

Quickly rattling off the latin, Dipper stepped back and watched an extremely confused Bill Cipher take root in Ford’s mind. Sitting in wait, he heard a few chuckles and hums from the demon, eventually stopping after a good ten minutes. The demon left the body and Ford slackened, losing a terse posture that the teen hadn’t even noticed until then. _‘All done. That was easy! Just outlined some of the cutesy family junk that you’ve done this holiday and shoved the rest back. Won’t remember a thing. Yeesh, you weren’t in his good books, though! Lot of sour feelings wandering around pertaining to ya.’_

_‘Big surprise.’_ Dipper stroked the spine of the Journal and felt a faint rush of shame. _‘What about Stan, is he awake?’_

There was a pause. _‘Nope. Guy’s out like a light.’_

_‘Good. I couldn’t do that again.’_

_‘You didn’t have to in the first place,’_ the demon grumbled, but Dipper wasn’t paying attention, already picking his way over the dusty carpet and making for Stan’s bedroom. He was significantly easier to deal with - as Bill had said, the old man was snoring peacefully. Spreading his palms over the recumbent form of his family member, the words spilled from Dipper’s mouth with ease, shadow of the demon passing only briefly through his mind.

_‘Even easier, kid. Gotta say, you’re holding together way better than I expected.’_

_‘Yeah, I dunno. Guess my desire to keep this under wraps is stronger than I thought… and it’s not so bad, anyway. Just a little manipulation.’_

_‘Oh boy, ‘just a little manipulation’, he says. Pine Tree, you are a riot! Let’s finish up. Shooting Star’s also asleep.’_

Inching up the stairs, the teen began to feel confident, taking a moment to throw the third Journal onto his bed when he entered the attic room. Faint creaks emanated from the aged floorboards as he made his way over to her bed. For all the sharp bites of guilt tried to snap at his heels, he managed to push them out of his mind.

Brown hair splayed across her cushion, his twin really did look awfully innocent and peaceful. Of all of his family, it was her that he least wanted to subject to this. It was necessary, though. Time to finish up.

“ _Humana mens aperitur, mens est ad usum -_ “ Dipper began, a little too loud. Book perched in one hand, the other was hovering somewhere over her head. Finding it a strain to hold, the notebook slipped out of his fingers and clattered to the floor. “- shit -“

‘ _Kid, she’s only a light sleeper, she’s -’_

Mabel groaned and opened her eyes slightly, haze of sleep still hanging over her. “Ugh… what time is it... “

Suddenly seeing her brother properly, she squinted and her face clouded with fear.

“Dipper? What’re - what’re you-”

He shook slightly and continued to spew what stifled latin he could remember, both hands outstretched over her no longer prone form. Mabel tried to reach up and stop him, but something seemed to press her down into the mattress and fog up her head. Any movement was like wading through sludge.

“Dip - Dipper, p-please,” she pleaded, terrified that he’d been possessed again. “P-please stop.”

He continued, casting one mortified glance down at his sister before screwing his eyes shut. It was enough. She’d seen his iris, the lack of yellow around it, and felt her heart sink in the knowledge that it _wasn’t Bill it was just Dipper what was he doing to her?_ Slips of her memories seemed to be unravelling fast; even as she tried to maintain a grasp on her reality, the first few weeks of summer began to shimmer and change. 

“I’m sorry,” her brother whispered, incantation finished. “Believe me. I’m so sorry.”

He waved his hand and sent a jolt of power through her system.

As Mabel slumped back on her pillow, the spell set in and her face cleared of all consternation. Bill’s voice echoed in Dipper’s head but he didn’t hear it, merely pushed Mabel’s bangs from her eyes, mind vaguely unfocused, hands clenching briefly on the covers of her bed.

Dipper leaned over the unconscious form of his sister and he _laughed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M LITERALLY JUST WRITING AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE BEFORE EXAM SEASON KICKS IN ASDGFHJGK. Longest chapter took the least amount of time. I dunno.
> 
> Also, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. This story was never gonna be nice, although Bill is definitely being more of a douche than I initially intended. In explanation for Dipper's foul mood, shifting from the enforced cheeriness to his normal personality didn't do him much good. I attempted to draw my Gold son, so here:  
>   
>  
> 
> SONG: 'My Demons' by Starset


	9. Lord Cipher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: HUMAN SACRIFICE AHEAD (AND NO, DIPPER ISN'T KILLING ANYONE _JUST_ YET).

“That was positively _unhinged_ , kid. Are you _sure_ you’re not insane?”

“Shut up. Shut up.”

“You sounded like me, too! Maybe I’m having more of an effect than I thought~”

Dipper pinched the bridge of his nose. ”Jesus Christ. Shut up.”

Shrugging unapologetically, the demon gave an unrepentant giggle. “I’m just saying, that was kind of weird, Pine Tree.”

Already flushed with shame at the memory, the teen drew out one small vial of blood and continued to work on the rune structure he’d created. It was midday; they’d been out on the courtyard of the temple for a few hours already, and Bill refused to let the momentary breakdown Dipper had suffered go unmentioned. So _what_ if he’d just stood over his sister and laughed for a while? When you were in the position the teen was in, you had to laugh. You had to laugh, or you’d think too much on it and want to cry. Apparently it had sounded a little too exalting to be innocent, but what did Bill know?

“You said you wanted to offer something like ‘friendship’, but you’re hardly fulfilling that in any respect.”

Bill inspected his hand. “And how would you know, Pine Tree?”

It took Dipper a moment. “Hey… Hey! I have friends! And they’re much kinder than you. They, plural.”

“Whatever, kid. They can’t be as awesome as I am, though, or as powerful. What measly human friend could do _this?_ ”

The world burst into a sudden rush of flame, momentarily blinding Dipper before opening his eyes to a new array of colours he’d never seen before. Beautiful at first, he quickly found that his brain couldn’t cope with the brash onslaught of information; he went to cover his eyes with his hands, grumbling at the bloodstains on them. “No human friend could manage to inspire quite as many breakdowns as you do, Bill, don’t you worry.”

The demon tutted. “Way to be a bitch, PT.” To Dipper’s relief, the colours bled away.

“Right.” Dipper gave a disgruntled huff at the now empty vial, pulling a bird from the sky with a flick of his hands and stabbing it distractedly, one hand holding his magic book. “OK, I’m confused. The book says one row of runes, but logically it should need two. I don’t get it.”

“Well, why do you think it needs two, kid?”

Dipper made to rest his chin on his palm, looked down at the crimson at the last moment, and sighed. “Because one line of basic runes isn’t going to be enough to direct this amount of power effectively. If you have two, then the spell will be more potent _and_ efficient, as you have less energy dispersing uselessly.”

Bill paused. “That’s right, Pine Tree. You really have been studying up, huh?”

“I needed a distraction last night,” the teen muttered simply. The events of the evening were all too prevalent in his mind and he’d rather just forget them; focus more on that morning and the warmth still seeping from beneath the creature in his hand. Maybe a squirrel would have been a better choice. Or a deer. Yeah, a deer.

“I could be a distraction anytime, ya know.” Did the demon seem a bit offended? He was dabbling gently in one of the many bowls of materials that Dipper had lain within reach. “Ya could’ve talked to me.” There it was: a definite tone of jealousy.

“Don’t get upset, Bill, I needed a bit of space. That’s all. I couldn’t really talk to you with Mabel passed out just across from me, knowing that… yeah.” The teen grimaced.

“You still laughed.” Kicking a bowl over grumpily, the triangle had a remorseful moment and began to scoop the powdery contents back in with an invisible hand. “How did the fam look this morning then?”

"Well," Dipper began. "It was interesting -"

***

The morning had been both terrifying and enlightening - after only catching a few hours of extremely restless sleep, Dipper had awoken screaming. A concerned twin sister was staring at him from her bed, already up and wiping at her eyes; Mabel’s face flickered with a moment of confusion before settling into her normal countenance.

“Woah, Dip-Dop, you okay?”

Studying her intently, he kneaded at his head and nodded, face pinched painfully as though suffering from a headache. Which he was - the mixture of staying up to read and channelling magic had taken its toll in the form of a distinct throb behind one eye, sending faint pulses of pain through his skull. “Hurts,” he managed to hiss through gritted teeth. “Give me a moment.”

“Oh, okay. I was just gonna go for a shower anyway.” She shrugged her duvet away from her shoulders and walked over to give her twin a brief hug, leaving the room. The echoing sound of the pipes of the shack coming to life became apparent.

Checking the door nervously, Dipper raised one hand to the centre of the pain and whispered _‘sano’_ , gasping in relief as the spell slowly unwound the ache. Today was yet another forest trip, Dipper knew, so he yanked a bathrobe on and carefully took one, two pills, trying to get the day off to a fairly quick start. Just because he’d been early so far didn’t mean that Bill would tolerate a sudden tardiness in his travels.

Padding uncertainly down the stairs and into the kitchen, Dipper found his Grunkles already sat eating, Ford nursing a heavy lump on the side of his head with a cold flannel. Attempting not to look too guilty, the teen lingered at the sideboard, waiting for somebody to speak.

“Good morning, Dipper! Good day?” Ford sounded far more jovial than he had in weeks.

It was jarring. “Uhm. Yeah, I think so. Had a nightmare, but… it’s nothing.” Dipper paused, weighing the potential outcome of his words. He decided to go for it. “So, what did you do to your head?”

To his surprise, Ford simply laughed and shrugged. “It’s slightly embarrassing, really, m’boy. I was perusing the Journal last night and I must have fallen asleep and hit my head on the desk. Which doesn’t make a lot of sense, because I woke up lying to the right and the damage is on my left…” The same expression of momentary mystification that he’d seen on Mabel crossed Ford’s face briefly, making Dipper’s breath catch. Thankfully, it quickly fled. “I must just be getting clumsier.”

“Or going senile,” Stan muttered, grinning at the grumpy glare his twin shot at him. “Hey, kid, got any plans?”

Caught off guard, Dipper’s hand hovered over a slice of toast and he shrugged. “Going into the forest again, probably.”

“More research! That Journal of yours will be full by the end of the summer at this rate, m’boy.” Ford had puffed up like a bird showing off its plumage. “Good to see you so productive!”

Mystified, the teen simply nodded and stole the toast quickly. What Journal? He could vaguely remember mentioning the desire to document his discoveries at some point at the beginning of summer, but he’d hardly had the chance to follow that up. Unless - Bill had probably shifted that memory forward in his Grunkle’s head as a cover up. Very smart, if the demon had bothered to notify him of the stories he was supposed to go along with.

Dipper took a large bite of his breakfast, chewing distastefully. Both of his great uncles looked away and he relaxed his posture. Safe. He was _safe_. Some far off star had shone on him and granted him mercy, and it made his head spin to know that this time yesterday, Ford had probably been selecting which scalpels to use.

Somewhere else in the house, the sound of running water cut off and Mabel emerged from upstairs, clothed in her own fluffy bathrobe. Her hair had been pulled into one of the weird towel hat things that girls always made, despite never having been taught by somebody else. Dipper guessed that it was a form of female intuition that he lacked, because he couldn’t for the life of him understand how the thing was supposed to remain to neatly and tightly wound around the head. Ford was also staring at it curiously. He must’ve come to some conclusion, for he dropped his flannel onto the table and pulled out a strange machine with a set of wide headphones.

“Hey Mabel, how’s it goin’?” Stan kicked a chair out for her and she sat gratefully, glancing over at her brother.

“Nothing to complain about, Grunkle Stan! Meeting up with Paz today. Need to do a proper girly shop, catch up, have some fun.” Also hoisting a stack of toast up, she waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “The usual.”

“Care to take your brother with you? He looks like he ain’t seen a friend since the start o’ summer, and the forest don’t count.” Stan smirked faintly, unaware of the spike of fear that shot straight through Dipper’s torso. “Ain’t seen any guys or gals either, eh?”

Before Dipper could mutter something between ‘shut up’ or ‘fuck off’, Mabel had piped in with a bright “ _girly_ shop, Stan! For _girl_ things. He’d just get grossed out. Because guys are weak when it comes to basic bodily functions.”

The teen didn’t actually mind that much, but Dipper was hardly gonna jump at the chance to be mocked horribly for a day. “Oh, yeah, no thanks. I’ll stick to the forests.”

“ _Weak_.You are _weeeeeaaakkkk_!”

Grunkle Ford let out a surprised ‘hm!’ and twisted a dial on his machine, headphones almost slipping forward and off his head as he leaned in to study whatever was shown on the tiny LED screen. Stan gave it a curious glance and prodded at one of the buttons on the side, earning a smack round the head from his brother. “If you want to know what this is, Stanley, you could ask instead of deafening me.”

"Well _so-rry_ Sixer, you always ignore my questions!"

"Only because they're ridiculous, of course we can't practice alchemy -"

The younger twins left the older pair to it.

Organising their clothes for the day, Dipper was sat on his bed, watching Mabel pull together an outfit from their shared wardrobe and running his fingers over his own shirts. He couldn’t help but be acutely aware of the shift in dynamic of the household in comparison to the day prior. “Do they seem… oddly cheery to you, Mabes?”

The sound of material shifting paused. “No? They’ve been like this all summer.”

Even before they’d worked him out, the teen knew that his great uncles had been permanently stressed and agitated. “Not so far as I can remember.”

“I don’t know, Dipper.” Her voice had taken on a curt edge, matched with the sound of a box being opened. She pulled two simple triangle earrings from the jewellery box and he stared at the shapes with a fraudulent fascination, nervous as she clipped them innocently to her ears. The black plastic they were made from shone with bright white light in the glare from the window. “Uh, bro?”

“Uh. Yeah?” He shook his head and smiled faintly. “Sorry. Not with it.”

She stood before him, so totally _Mabel_ that his heart skipped desperately, her hands on her hips and summer sweater boasting a bright sun. “I just - _god_ , Dipper. I know Ford wants you to be all intelligent and research-y, but this is your _family_. I barely see you outside of work, and this is what happens if you hide away constantly, you miss things.” A bitterness that he’d rarely heard from Mabel was rearing its head, and Dipper ducked his gaze. “Yeah, they’re happy for once. It’s a shame it took you this long to notice.”

In the alternate version of events, it seemed that summer was going very well for everybody else. Did that mean that all the previous tenseness and unhappiness was his fault? Did he really have that much of a negative effect on his family? Dipper didn’t even register the sound of his twin walking away as he grimaced. _Ouch_. That hurt. Bill had been right about being selfish. It was just self-preservation, just trying to get by, even if he did like the demon to a degree.

_‘You keep telling yourself that, kid.’_

Electing to ignore that and move Bill a few pegs down in his mental ‘douchebag level’ chart (going from _‘fairly entertaining, possibly a friend’_ to _‘bearable, would rather not see_ ’), Dipper pulled on a faded black shirt and his favourite red flannel, hand hovering over his pine tree hat and shoving it into his backpack. While the demon seemed to have no major attachment to it, on the odd days where he bothered to wear it that singular slitted eye would frequently appraise his headgear.

Not that the teen wanted to gain Bill’s approval. Of course not… he just wanted to stay in the good books for as long as possible. That’s what he told himself as he finished packing and smiled faintly at the scent of wax and ozone that clung to everything nowadays.

***

“ - positive note it seems to have worked perfectly.” 

“Sounds great, kid. Not the stuff with Shooting Star, but at least my changes worked!”

“Still don’t appreciate you not telling me the cover story,” Dipper huffed. His two sets of runes were perfectly written, and the bowls were strewn ridiculously far across the cobbles, some spilling out, others upside down. He didn’t really focus on where they went when he inevitably got frustrated with something and threw one of the wooden vessels away.

“Ya picked it up just fine. Hardly an issue.” Bill watched as demonic languages slipped easily from the teen’s lips, little more than a barrage of hisses and angered spits, yet another thing that he’d had to teach using a quick deal. An immediate ability to read and speak demonic, in exchange for the removal of any demon-blocking spells around the town. Dipper hadn’t even looked up from his work to shake Bill’s hand.

The runes glowed a stunning white, blob of matter slowly coalescing on a glass plate in the middle of the spell.

“Demonic matter,” the teen whispered. “It’s so weird.”

A few more hissed words and a definite globule of blackened sludge had formed. Once the runes had finished glowing, his hand reached out to touch it, quickly slapped away by Bill. “Jesus, Pine Tree, do _not_ touch that. Demonic shit is _not_ for humans.”

The demon hovered over to the bizarre paste his accomplice had summoned and fell face first into it, seemingly absorbing the sludge into his front and giving a satisfied hum. It drained away completely with one final comical _‘pop!_ ’, and Bill floated back up, testing his arms gently.

"Basically just purified Mindscape! Great. Really warms you up, great preparation for that spell I’m getting ready. Completely unethical, considering ya made that using the buried remains of some geezer in a nearby graveyard, but we'll blame the spell for that, eh? Always fun to turn dead bodies into something else!" Bill ignored the faintly grossed out look that Dipper pulled, summoning a piece of unassuming paper and tapping at the messy scrawl along it. "Let's see where we are. We’ve done… fire magic, obviously. Frost and snow, also done, you taught yourself that. Nice job with fixing the damage to your window… Healing, check, blood magic introduction, check, we need to do illusions still, of course… basic tuition… hm. I think we can afford to take it easy for a bit.”

“Take it easy?” Dipper sounded doubtful. “What are we gonna do?”

Wiping the floor clean and dumping all of the teen’s supplies in the Mindscape, Bill settled himself in the air, rocking his legs back and forth. “Why not poke about in the vast knowledge I have at my disposal? You’re a curious guy, Pines, I know you wanna find out more about this dumb dimension of yours. So. Ask me about somethin’!”

Huh. Dipper thought about what questions he’d stockpiled over the past few weeks, and then grinned. “Tell me about your cult.”

_“Excellent choice!”_ Bill seemed genuinely delighted at the chance to show off. “Ah, but it was great back in the day! My cult was the best. We didn’t take any shit, and we terrified the locals. Lots of human sacrifices. Wanna see?”

Dipper stilled. “See?”

“Yeah, I can show you, if you want.”

Waving one hand, Bill called the teen over and Dipper walked over to furthest edge of the temple courtyard, surprised when the world flickered visibly and ghostly figures appeared. Each one slowly became more solid, until there was a whole diverse collection of what must have been cultists walking around and talking to one another.

“Thought it’d be easiest to just show you directly, PT. Come on then, I ain’t using this much illusionary magic to just look at humans chatting.”

Making their way along the (now shockingly packed) flagstones, Dipper found himself dodging people on all sides. Every one of them was wearing a plain white toga underneath what seemed to be a poncho, made of plain creamy linen, decorated with one strip of triangles and eyes along the middle. Some had their hoods up to shade their faces; the hoods also boasted an image of a shut eye sewn onto the front. It was all so arrogant and the teen couldn’t help but laugh at the images of Bill that seemed to be everywhere.

If he looked beyond the swarm of people, the forest had visibly moved backwards, whole swathes of trees suddenly gone and replaced with fields of simple tents.

“Impressive, but a bit narcissistic, Bill.”

“It’s called _flair_ , Pine Tree.” The demon was glowing with a faint exertion, and Dipper felt his magic slowly recede from his body as Bill took it to focus on maintaining the image. He was surprised by how empty the loss of the sickly warmth made him feel. “My cult was the best around. And now you’re gonna see why.”

Finally stopping at the foot of the steps, Bill gently levitated Dipper to hover a foot above and a few metres to the side of the altar. Stood behind it was a young man in his twenties, boasting beautifully tanned skin and a crop of blonde hair that seemed abnormal considering the time period. Which couldn’t have been as long ago as the teen had initially thought; the tents were very sturdy indeed.

“The guy behind the altar was the leader. Called him the ‘Medium’, ‘cause he acted as my puppet when I needed a physical form. The middle ground. His actual name was Oscar, although I guess that’s also my fault.” Bill noticed that the kid was slowly slipping downwards, and pulled him up. “I named him that when he was only a toddler, because his skin was practically golden. Joke was a bit lost on the cultists. That’s why you don’t make references to the future around humans. They never get ‘em.”

Dipper found his voice, having been slightly preoccupied with the whole floating thing. “When was this?”

“1800s, or something. Linear time is baseless, PT. But yeah. The temple didn’t age well.”

The illusion made the grubby stone that Dipper was used to gleam in the sunlight, obviously very recently built and shockingly beautiful. From his position in the air, friezes with ornate scenes including a conspicuous triangular character were visible, and he’d have taken his time in looking at them if a sudden flurry of movement hadn’t suddenly burst out beneath him.

Two women were ascending the steps, lugging a distinctly human-sized sack between them. As it smacked against each sharp marble step it cried out, the material shifting desperately, but the cultists ignored the movements. If anything, the pair looked bored, sharing a suggestive glance halfway up.

“Flannel and Facepaint,” Bill supplied. “Once again, kinda named them after future stuff. Flannel so named because she might have been be the most stereotypical gay woman I’d ever met, and Facepaint was incredibly creative with her makeup. Both super devoted. Probably because they could be together openly here, at a time where people were stupidly intolerant.”

Looking closer, Dipper found that Flannel had a plain and faintly rounded face, grey eyes glittering. Facepaint’s chestnut hair gleamed in the sun, lips painted bright red and quirked up in a sardonic smirk as they heaved the bag onto the altar.

“Now comes the fun bit.”

Dipper blanched as the two women bowed towards Oscar and stepped to the side, leaving the sack to jostle and struggle alone on the marble slab. Oscar removed the tightly drawn string and revealed a middle-aged man, dressed only in minimal clothing, bound and gagged and straining desperately against his bonds. “You did not.” The teen was increasingly uncomfortable with the scene in front of him, watching unhappily as some kind of drug was slipped into the offering’s mouth beneath the gag and he gradually stilled, terror obvious in his wide green eyes. “You did not take me to see a sacrifice, Bill, please say you did not.”

“That’s exactly what I did, Pine Tree!” Bill wound an arm around the human’s midsection and drew him in close, sharp sides digging into Dipper’s torso and making him wince. “Isn’t this fun!?”

“Not really.” Oscar was preparing some kind of silver dagger. The cultists assembled below had silenced and were stood in a scantily organised throng, watching in a bizarre state of rapture as their leader cleared his throat. A quiet prayer was muttered, body shifted to lie perfectly flat against the chilled stone, and the knife was raised high into the air.

“Oh god.” Dipper looked away. The awful squishing sound that he’d gradually been normalising was suddenly abhorrent again, gagging in disgust as the crowd below began to chant and cheer, blood slipping down the white staircase. A few ascended the bottom steps to dab their cloaks in it.

“They were such a weird bunch,” Bill muttered fondly, hands clasped together at his front, watching closely. “So determined, so devoted. Except for Brahms. He was a dick. But I killed him in the end.”

Eyes tightly shut, Dipper just nodded and tried not to focus on the fact that he’d been listening to somebody getting sacrificed to _Bill_ as people cheered below. He dared to slowly take a glimpse, thankful that the body had already been moved, although the silver dagger was still lain in the sizeable pool of crimson that was spreading along the pure colouring of the altar. The Medium was leaning forward over it in apparent agony.

“Is he okay?”

“Just watch, kid.”

Sharply arching his back, Oscar rolled his shoulders and grinned, telltale golden eyes alighting his features. Dipper gasped. The cultists below all knelt; Flannel and Facepaint merely dropped to one knee, quickly standing and going up to talk to Bill/Oscar. Boscar? Osill? Dipper couldn’t come up with a good name for him. Biscar?

The Bill next to him chuckled at his thoughts and gave a quick _‘focus, Pine Tree.’_

Bill/Oscar’s grin grew at the sight of the women and greeted them warmly, having a brief but intense discussion before he turned to his cult as a whole. “HONOURED CULT OF MINE,” he yelled, “MY BLESSINGS ON YOU! NOT THAT I’M ANYTHING OF A BLESSING, BUT YOU GET THE POINT! YOU CAN STAND UP NOW.”

They did so, some of them laughing.

“MY TREASURERS TELL ME THAT OUR PROFITS HAVE DOUBLED SINCE LAST MONTH. KRYPTOS’ MEASLY FOLLOWING HAS BEEN LARGELY WIPED OUT. YOUR LORD IS VERY PLEASED WITH YOU, VERY PLEASED INDEED.” He raised his arms and gave a bright, sparking giggle. “RATIONS ARE BEING INCREASED! I DECLARE A WEEK OF FEASTING! MAY MY NAME BE EVER ON YOUR LIPS.”

The throng gave one muted cry of ‘Bill Cipher!’ and the medium stumbled forward slightly, catching himself quickly and motioning for the people to dissipate.

“That was so weird. They were weird.” Dipper had to admit that he’d watched the proceedings with some fascination, embarrassingly tempted by the prospect of hundreds of followers, all crying out his name in unison. It would be empowering.

Bill snickered, but not unkindly. “There were weirder ones. The pyramids? Mine.”

“Oh,” Dipper muttered. “ _Oh._ Seriously?”

“Do I look like a follower, kid? That style was mine to begin with. The Egyptians copied me. Recognised the superiority of the triangular shape, those guys!”

"What did I say about narcissism?" For all the teen tried to sound agitated, it came out as fond, maybe heartfelt, and he cursed internally.

"You could do to be a bit more respectful, PT. You know, in one timeline, you were my main follower!” Bill’s gaze briefly became more intense, and the image shifted and warped.

Dipper recognised a slightly older version of himself sat earnestly on what he could only describe as a throne, located in an unfamiliar ornate sandstone temple. Stereotypical wooden torches burned in golden wall brackets, everything was gilt and shining, glowing yellow in the flickering light. It burnished his face and made it even softer and rounder than it normally was. His alternate self had his birthmark on full display - a sign of power, Bill said proudly - clothed in the same strange triangular poncho, tunic tied neatly underneath.

A woman stepped up to the throne. Alternate Dipper ducked his head down to listen to her, nodding thoughtfully, eyes slipping from brown to gold without so much as a pause. Disjointed grin cracking open, Bipper tapped at the arm of the chair and offered a decree; the follower bowed and walked off without another word.

“I’m your vessel?” Dipper muttered in surprise, watching the movements of the image in fascination.

“In that world. Heh. It’s a weird universe, for sure - I was your _master_ in more ways than one, if you catch my drift.”

Back stiffening, the human caught onto Bill’s crude innuendo and gave a mortified yelp, face colouring. “How - how does that even work?”

“Oscar existed in that world too,” Bill said simply. The definite upward lilt of his eyelid and bristling bowtie betrayed his internal amusement. 

“So you… okay, okay, not gonna think about this any further.” Dipper felt like his head may explode from the ashamed burn of embarrassment.

“Probably for the best.”

The two of them witnessed the way that Bipper smiled gently down at his own hands and considered perfectly maintained fingernails. "He looks oddly happy," Dipper observed, not knowing what to make of the way that the cultist listed forward and frowned when his eyes returned to their normal brown, his own voice muttering an 'as you wish, my Lord' and lowering back onto the throne.

"He is. It's a weird universe, but it ain't a bad one." Casting a sad glance at the alternate Dipper, the demon pushed the image aside and gave a relieved sigh as magic pounded back into his body. For all he had an almost endless supply of power, it still took a lot of concentration to maintain such a complex illusion, and trying to keep the link between himself and Dipper running while showing him the cult had proven to be too much effort. The teen stumbled at the sudden onslaught of energy, grasping at his head.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he whispered, nauseous. Unfortunately reminded of the fever that he almost forgot ran under his skin, Dipper dropped to the floor and rolled onto his back, staring up at the afternoon sky. Rays of sun broke through the clouds and shone onto his face, lighting up Bill in sweet colours, hues of orange and gold.

“You a’ight there, PT?” The demon lowered himself to the ground and similarly lay back, eye staring up into the blue. “Nice day.”

“Yeah.”

“Still wanna see it burn.”

“Ha. Yeah.” Dipper gulped at the heat emanating from Bill’s form, small black fingers toying with the sleeve of the teen’s red flannel and curiously poking tiny holes in the gaps between threads. The human swore his breath stalled entirely as the warm hand accidently jabbed his arm. A powerful blush seared his cheeks and Dipper huffed furiously; he was aware that his sparks of interest were purely because Bill was the only thing he’d been in continued contact with aside from his family.

Didn’t make his touch any less real, or oddly exhilarating.

“Kid, your heart rate’s spiking. Another anxiety attack?” The demon retracted his hand and propped himself up on his arm, looking entirely too ridiculous for Dipper not to snort. “What?”

“I’m fine,” the teen chuckled. “You can lie back down, that was nice.”

“If ya say so,” Bill replied, tone evidently suspicious. Even so, he dropped back down the the ground and hoisted his legs up into the air, kicking them noiselessly at the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief reprieve from the constant clusterfuck that is Dipper’s life, and a quick look at Bill’s past! I’m gonna tell you now, I’m not going to take this on a trip of ‘will they won’t they’ - they won’t. Demons are aro/ace in this ‘verse. If this was a bit tame, don’t worry, we’ll be back to it next chapter with a look at poor ol’ Pine Tree’s past, and some… interesting choices on his part. Thanks for reading!
> 
> SONG: ‘He Is’ by Ghost BC


	10. Down Memory Lane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Biphobia in this chapter! I don’t think it’s too extreme, but in any case, you should be warned. Changes in memories are marked with ‘---’ rather than ***, just to make the difference a bit clearer.

A week on.

Dipper stumbled, petrified, over a collection of jagged stones and tree roots, breath coming out in ragged gasps as something - something _huge_ , and bloodthirsty - leered over him. Amidst the darkness of the branches and austere trunks he swore he could see eyes. Wide eyes. Slitted eyes, open and staring and laughing as he slipped and fell down into the dirt.

The beast _roared_. 

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” the teen whimpered, knees digging into the hard earth. Two long grazes ran along his kneecaps, prickling agonisingly with the small dots of blood that rose to the skin. His hands were similarly damaged. “Oh _god.”_

Another roar. He flipped over onto his back and gasped at the sight of the lunging monster overhead, covering his eyes and screaming thoughtlessly. _“BILL!”_

The creature stopped. 

In fact, everything stopped. The faint breeze that had been running over Dipper’s prone form stilled, and the echoing crashes of trees and plants being torn underfoot by the monster had gone completely. Daring to peer through splayed fingers, he looked up and found that, aside from eerily clear glinting claws, the beast was indistinct and shifting like grainy footage. 

“What?” Dipper stood, sucking thoughtfully at his grazes; he used an outstretched palm to tap thoughtfully at corporeal sinew and bones. 

“You’re dreaming, kid.”

Yelping, Dipper swivelled around to see Bill floating a few metres behind him, glowing bright yellow against an increasingly monochrome background. Slowly, the forest melted away. They were stood together in what looked like an endless grey room, what was probably the reality of an unformed Mindscape. “You were having a nightmare. Sorry ‘bout that, I just handed out a few of my backlogged ones randomly.” 

The glint in Bill’s eye suggested that there was far more to Dipper’s dream than he would say, but he merely floated up to the human and tousled his already messy hair. 

“Thanks for getting me out of it, I guess,” Dipper replied, curiously looking over his outfit and noting the lack of a cap. 

“You’re the one that called for me, kid,” Bill snickered, shifting to a gentler sandstone yellow. “Your subconscious thinks of me when it needs help. Ain’t that cute?”

“Don’t look too much into it.” Huffing abashedly, the teen looked around and attempted to summon his magic book in his mind. A book did indeed coalesce in his outstretched palm, cover shifting and failing to settle as his memory attempted to recreate the image. “While I’m lucid, we could do some magic tutoring?”

Bill gave a brief thumbs up. “I like the way you think, kid.”

***

“What’s today’s plan, then?”

Dipper sat on the marble altar, swinging his legs over the edge and ignoring the knowledge he had recently gained about its exact use. “We got through a load of stuff last night.” Bill was perched at the top of the stairs, looking up at the human innocently. “I guess we can chill for a bit, kid.”

Surprised, the teen jumped off his perch and hit the solid ground lightly, rocking his heels into the imperceptible impact. The image of Bill sat in his own temple amused him for some reason; Dipper tread easily down the stairs and grinned at the odd sight. Of course, it was marred slightly by the pervading monochrome - colour was becoming increasingly less of a staple - but it remained impressive. One small, shining triangle sat in such a grandiose structure. With a top hat.

Eye lilting in confusion, Bill twiddled his thumbs. “What’re ya thinking about, Pine Tree?”

“You look very picturesque from this angle, Bill, that’s all. Which is funny, ‘cause you normally look like a total asshole.”

Even as Bill flew over to swipe at Dipper’s head the teen ducked and laughed, tripping over the backpack that had been lain on the ground some time before and forgotten; he was sent flying over the hard stone and swore internally. Thankfully, Dipper managed to keep himself from falling flat on his face and busting his lip.

“I’m considering that to be payback for your cheek, PT.” The demon was dragging the canvas bag along, throwing it somewhere to the side where it wouldn’t be a potential hazard.

“That’s fair,” came the blithe response, the human resituating himself in the middle of the courtyard and stretching out in the sun. “You never answered my question though, Bill. What are the plans for today?”

Bill hovered over, oddly sheepish. “We looked at part of my past, Pine Tree…” the demon’s voice had become wheedling, trying and failing to hide the curiosity behind it. “Lemme look at yours.”

Immediately backing off, Dipper shook his head, reason dictating a million causes for worry at the request. Having Bill quickly change a few memories to keep him safe - that was nothing, because he trusted the demon enough to know that Bill wouldn’t just cause arbitrary damage to the family that had grasped his interest so thoroughly. Dipper’s memories, on the other hand… perhaps it sounded obvious, but they were _personal._ Unpleasant, and shameful at points, the idea of a set of fresh eyes (or eye) watching his past actions wasn’t one he relished. “No, that’s not gonna be as fun as you think it’ll be, Bill.”

“ _Nonsense_ , it’ll be very interesting! I wanna know what makes my little apprentice tick!” 

“You already know the answer to that. It’s called a deal,” came the droll reply. 

“Oh, shut it, PT. Have you ever thought that it may help?” Bill noted the complete lack of belief in Dipper’s face and grumbled. “Sometimes the best way to deal with somethin’ is just to approach it head on, get it out of the way, yanoo? Closure. That’s it, get some _closure.”_

“You really think that reliving my past is going to help?” Scuffing one shoe into the flagstones, the heavy doubt on Dipper’s face had only mildly lessened. 

“Sure!” Bill tapped at the human’s forehead, splaying his digits open against the skin. “It won’t hurt a bit, probably be over before ya know where ya are! Give you the chance to… reflect on your past, make peace, move on, yadda yadda. It’s obvious that something’s been eating ya.”

Dipper nibbled at his lip and cast Bill one final, indecisive look, before nodding haltingly.

“Okay, I guess. If you really think it’ll help me get over them… we can do that. For a while. I suppose.”

“Excellent choice, kid, ya won’t regret this!” Bill wormed an arm around to the back of Dipper’s skull, giggling maniacally as his cold fingers latched onto warm skin and the teen gasped. “Now, let’s see what we have here, shall we?”

***

A twelve year old Dipper Pines was writing furiously. 

He and Mabel were compiling a book - just a fun holiday activity that she’d suggested post-Bill to keep her brother occupied, as he didn’t want to go outside. Very quickly Dipper had found it to be a lot of fun to produce ciphers and codes to hide, so he was writing out a message.

‘ _-extra-usual. when friends ask you to stop being paranoid, you will scoff. - ’_

His family were worried. Stan had driven him to the hospital after the whole… thing, and after attempting to explain what was ultimately self-harm (not that he had been himself, but whatever) it had been a very long drive home. Dipper had fallen asleep in his sister’s arms and awoken screaming; once his great uncle was done swearing violently, he’d slowed the car to a halt and asked very seriously if they needed to go back. 

_‘- when they say that you've been acting really weird since you read that book and they don't even recognize you anymore, that means they're jealous. -’_

Of course, Dipper said no. He should have said yes, as the rings under his eyes merely increased and the startling flashes of yellow around the shack drove him up the wall. 

_‘ - you are like me now. we are part of a higher calling, we will meet one day -’_

Just focus on the Journal. Maybe find the other two, wherever they were, find some way to protect himself and the others from Bill. Bill, who kept meddling in his dreams, Bill, who seemed to be all over the house, Bill, who he swore he could feel under skin sometimes.

_‘-and on that glorious day we will show the small-minded doubters that we were right all along, and are also really cool, -’_

Drawing his pen with a flourish across his notepaper, the child felt an odd thrill at having produced something forbidden, something a bit more meaningful than Mabel’s childish contributions, even if she didn’t know about it. 

_‘- and they should have been nicer to us.’_

He looked back on it only weeks later with a slight sense of shame, knowing that what he had written was both over the top and slightly unnerving, but Mabel never worked out the cipher. So it didn’t matter, did it? Ford appeared, and suddenly there was a brief shift of focus in Dipper’s life. It was very welcome, until his Grunkle asked Dipper to be his apprentice, and then the kid had to go home and deal with his problems alone.

\---

Dipper splayed a small hand against the cold glass of the car window, watching the passing trees absently as he wallowed in self-pity. His own wan figure was reflected in the clear surface; the bags under his eyes had only grown darker as the school year gradually kicked back into gear, staying up every night both to work on his studies and to try and ward off his incessant nightmares.

Stupid fucking triangle.

Lilting one finger over the smooth fabric of the seat belt, the teen couldn’t help but sigh audibly, alerting the attention of Mabel. Noticing the way that her brother’s gaze had softened (and promised potential tears) she offered a hand and a smile.

“S’okay bro, they’ll make you better.”

“They can’t ‘make’ me anything,” he muttered darkly, taking her palm yet maintaining his gaze. “Therapy only works if you actually want it, and I don’t.”

Mabel gulped. “Well, you’re getting it, and you’ll be way happier once you’ve spoken to somebody who isn’t me, or Grunkles Stan and Ford.”

“Still don’t want to go.”

“We can’t just leave you to waste away, Dipper! You can’t expect us not to do anything when you’re quite obviously not well and in need of attention, alright?” He finally turned to look, visibly surprised at the emotional outburst from his twin, and winced at the tears in her eyes. “I can’t lose you to Bill, bro.”

Uncomfortable, the boy squeezed Mabel’s hand and nodded faintly. “Yeah. Sorry. You’re right.”

“And if they give you medication, you have to take it _every day._ Promise me you will?”

“Every single day,” Dipper muttered, smiling. “Without fail.”

Searching for something in his gaze, Mabel stared into his eyes and then fell back, obviously satisfied with the sincerity of his answer. A musty car scent had begun to waft throughout the vehicle, partially thanks to the small pine tree air freshener hanging from the mirror. Glaring decisively at it, Dipper could only be thankful that it was orange rather than bright blue - that would’ve been far too annoying.

But not as annoying as the therapist.

She simply sat in her office chair and gave him a scarcely interested stare, swivelling impatiently from side to side as the boy tried his damndest to appear as disgruntled and potentially dangerous as possible. Given that Dipper was 13, slightly chubby and possessed a round, pink nose, his attempts failed at the first hurdle. 

When he finally did open his mouth, 4 weeks later, the therapist already had pages of notes which he couldn’t fathom the source of. It was only when she actually allowed him to read over it that he gave an agitated squawk of denial.

“I am _not_ emotionally distant!”

“Dipper, with all due respect, you’ve spent 8 hours in this office already and this is the first conversation we’ve held. Perhaps that’s my fault for bringing toys in here - I’ll not do so again, if we fail to make any progress.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” he reasoned, eyeing the box of puppets with an uncomfortable leer. “You’re getting paid.”

She gave him a slightly withering stare and made yet another note on her clipboard. “The concept of ‘love of the job’ is rather lost on the younger generation, hm? Anyway, while we’re both here and talking, why don’t you tell me why you’ve not touched the box of felt puppets yet?”

Much as Dipper opened his mouth to speak, the words failed him, gaze still trained on the plastic box of felt that (for entirely unnatural reasons) terrified him so much.

\---

“Pick a side, Pines. Quickly!”

At least there was a choice, Dipper reflected, jogging over to one of the dodgeball teams with a quick gait. Much as he loathed gym with every fibre of his being, a summer spent running away from all manner of monsters had honed his running and dodging skills to the point that he was actually a desirable player in some sports. He’d managed to shock his teacher with the sudden improvement in track events.

What he never bothered to tell anyone was that he simply had to imagine there was some horrific monster on his tail, and the ability to run _very quickly_ was suddenly second nature. That might raise some questions.

He jogged over to one of the small clusters of teen boys without much deliberation.

\---

“Dipper?”

“No,” the teen spat through grated teeth. The headache was almost unbearable, his face screwed up in frustration. So Ford ‘thought he didn't need therapy’, huh? How nice. “I am _nothing_ like you. Quit acting like it, would you? Stroke your ego some other way.”

Ford paused, but didn’t turn around, fists clenching and unclenching.

\---

Starting high school was not the best time of Dipper’s life.

As Mabel easily morphed into the vivacious teenage scene, bouncing between friendship groups and personality types with the practiced ease of a tennis ball, Dipper seemed to stick to the walls and the floors in his desire to be absolutely _anywhere_ else. The final year of middle school had been bad enough - he’d been mocked for his introversion, but the inclusion of the supernatural was the final straw. He could only be thankful that none of his tormentors knew anything about his therapy.

There was a club for the study of the fantastical, which he’d slipped in and out of with relatively little fanfare. Some of the people there were very nice; Max, the treasurer, had welcomed Dipper with open arms. It just didn’t seem right for him in the end, though. For all their fervent research into UFO sightings and grainy images of Bigfoot, it was obvious that none of them quite took it seriously. The apparent lack of belief sometimes made Dipper worry that the events of Gravity Falls had merely been delusions of his apparently unwell mind.

“Mabel, you have to help me out here.” 

Surrounded by a group of friends he didn’t recognise (that was common, Mabel had so many that they changed constantly), she gave her brother a nervous glance, shifting under the grasp of his hands on her arms. “What’s up, Dipper?” 

“The stuff that…” he caught the gaze of one particularly nosy guy and grumbled, twisting her away from the eavesdroppers. “The stuff that happened in Gravity Falls. It... _happened_ , didn’t it?”

“Of course it did. Why, what’s wrong?” Twin sets of eyes met. 

“I - I…” Brow furrowed, he pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, trying to stem the potential flow of tears from reaching the surface. “It doesn’t matter. I just had to make sure, it’s all fine.”

Gesturing for the crowd to leave, Mabel watched the disgruntled teenagers from the corner of her eye and only turned back once she was sure they had some peace. When she did, the expression of poorly concealed fear made Dipper flinch. “Look, if you’re having doubts about what’s real…” she gave a wobbly smile. “Are you okay? Like, _okay_ okay?”

Was he? Vision wobbling slightly, he had to actively grab Mabel’s hand to ground his mind, trying not to distance himself from reality in the way that he so often did.

“Yeah.” 

\---

“What’s this?”

Tyler Owens, terror of the school, was holding Dipper’s medication box with a distinct look of mixed distaste and delight, spiked red hair a shock against the blue of the peeling lockers. “What drugs are ya dealing then, Pines? I bet it’s something tame.”

Several sets of hands all made to grab the box, every one of them belonging to a member of the ragtag team of full-time bullies that made the life of many people a living hell. It was unfortunate that Dipper Pines had quickly become a subject of their ire; even from his sprawled position on the floor he could see the rest of the contents of his locker, including part of a half-hearted Journal. Drunkenly pulling himself up from the grimy floors, he swiped at the medication, determined to reduce the damage as much as possible.

“Ah, ah, ah, Pinesy, finders keepers!” Tyler had lifted the back of the packaging up to the light, reading the bolded warnings aloud, before turning it around and rolling the complex name off his tongue. “Well, ain’t this interesting. Little Dipshit’s on meds!”

Any argument immediately died on Dipper’s tongue and he stood helplessly as calloused fingers tipped the contents of the box onto the floor.

“Aw, oops, did I drop them? Dang.” 

The round of thuggish laughter would have made Dipper roll his eyes, if it weren’t for the fact that they were his _pills_ and how was he meant to explain this without his family worrying in some way, jumping to conclusions or giving him pitying looks because Dipper was still being bloody _bullied -_

“What’re they for, huh? You try to off yourself or something?” Tyler’s voice was little more than ringing in the teen’s ears, so he did not respond, staring at the pile of slightly crushed capsules at his feet. “Or are you just nuts? That’d make sense. You always did have something weird about you, Pines, what with your nerdiness and then the sudden obsession with the supernatural. Saying that you’d seen things.” The bully’s face drew up close to Dipper’s own, hot breath washing over his nose. “Are they to stop you _seeing things,_ Pines?”

“Just antidepressants. That’s all.” The thin response was barely audible, eliciting a faint round of muttering from the growing crowd that Dipper hadn’t even noticed had formed.

When a teacher finally inquired why there were so many students in one place and no sign of the word ‘fight’, Tyler kindly explained that he was helping good ol’ Pines to pick up his medication, which he’d dropped on the floor, and wasn’t he nice for offering his time? 

Maybe it was cowardly for Dipper to merely nod in agreement, but he disliked the sparks behind the boy’s green eyes.

\---

Dipper was staring at the wall.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring at the wall for, exactly, but it was far more interesting than the homework lying unfinished on his desk, so he remained where he was. Springs dug into his arm as the aging mattress failed to achieve the one aim of comfort it was meant to fulfill. He didn’t move. The bedroom door opened; after the slow creak of wood came the disappointed gasp of somebody who had witnessed something they did not want to see.

“Oh god, not again.” Mabel’s weight created a dip in the mattress as she sat down beside her brother, toying with the duvet. “Bro, we talked about this.”

He didn’t reply.

“Dipper. _Dipper_.” A muted sigh. “Please don’t do this to me again. No. Don’t do this to _yourself.”_

A stray hand floated up to meet one of hers and she stroked the skin of his fingers, painfully gentle, handling him like glass. Sluggish as he felt, useless as he felt, the comforting sensation of her touch was enough to prompt the younger twin to twist himself around to lie flat on his back and look Mabel in the eye.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey,” she replied, tapping his palm. “You’ve been resting for days. Mom told me.”

Wincing, he nodded, body aching distantly. “You went off to Emma’s and I kinda crashed. Sorry.” 

“You can’t keep doing this.”

A spark of irritation flared in his stomach. “I can hardly help it, Mabel. I don’t enjoy feeling this way.”

“I know, I know.” She hummed faintly into the still air, weighing her words a little more carefully so as not to offend him again. “Of course you don’t. I’m sorry. I chose my words poorly. It’s only that we hate seeing you so… despondent?” 

“I just can’t see the point in getting up, sometimes.” He spoke plainly, ignoring the way that Mabel hunched forwards, hugging her hands to her chest. “It’s… I don’t know. Complicated.”

Fluttering loudly, a group of birds swooped around the rooftop of the adjacent house, wing-beats filling the long silence that followed. Watching their movements, the elder twin couldn’t help but smile tenderly. Had Dipper watched them fly, sometime? Surely he must have; even he couldn’t manage to stare at a blank wall for multiple days on end.

“You’re depressed, Dip.” Now it was his turn to flinch. “That’s just how it is. We can work through it though, right?”

“Yeah. Right.”

\---

“I don’t want them anymore.”

The therapist sighed. “It’s just medicine, Dipper. Like taking a paracetamol for a headache. It’s just that your problem is less physical than that. There’s no shame in it.”

“But it… it proves that there’s something wrong with me,” he spat through gritted teeth, tracing a small triangle on his kneecap with one finger. Somehow, the sensation soothed him. “My peers definitely see it like that.”

“Why, what do they do?” She noted his flinch, and lowered her voice. “Verbal abuse? Physical?”

Dipper flinched visibly as a bruise smarted painfully, awoken by the unwanted reminder. “Psycho. Junkie. Burnout, waster, freak, nutcase - what about ‘waste of fucking space?’ They think I’m crazy because of the supernatural stuff alone. Then they find out that I’m on _meds_ and then I’m _dangerous_ and ought to be _hospitalized.”_

A sympathetic hum. “Anything… physical?”

“Where do you think I got this black eye from?” The teen tried to sound angry, but he just sounded exhausted. “School won’t do anything about it. We’ve tried. They just spout bullshit about ‘sufficient proof’ and the need to prevent false accusations or whatever.”

The therapist frowned and tapped at her clipboard. “That’s not how the school should respond to reports.”

“No shit.”

Removing and neatly folding up her glasses, the therapist placed her papers onto her lap, clearly considering her following words with care. “You’ve been avoiding appointments with me for months, Dipper. Why now?”

Shrugging one shoulder, his eyes skimmed over the bright and overly cheerful posters on the wall, asking himself the same question. Why had he gone? Companionship, perhaps? Over the years, the sessions had become both easier and more trying - while the woman on the chair remained constant and increasingly friendly, the issues they discussed weren’t really getting any better. Arguably, they’d become worse.

Fiddling with his fingers, Dipper shifted his position in his chair and chanced a wan smile. “It’s the nightmares.”

\---

“So… what? Are you gay or -”

“Bi.” Dipper slammed his locker shut with a thin smile. “I don’t know how many times I’m going have to say this. I’m bi.”

“No need to get _tetchy.”_

The girl (who Dipper honestly barely even knew, and couldn’t fathom why she cared) gave an unimpressed huff, twisting her head back to send a nonverbal message to her friends, who were clustered together in a giggling group. Chances were that said message went along the lines of ‘look at this asshole’, but Dipper couldn’t bring himself to give a shit.

“You’d be fucking _tetchy_ if you got outed against your wishes. Not only that, but get outed _incorrectly_. ‘Male preference’ does not immediately equal ‘gay’, no matter what anyone thinks.”

Apparently she’d had enough of his passive aggressive tone, for Dipper’s classmate merely shrugged a shoulder and joined the gaggle of irritating girls. The swing of her hips and barely concealed middle finger she offered him promised a lot of problems in the future.

\---

“Hey, Mabes?”

Mabel was swinging from her bed, tip of her head brushing the floor as her brown hair hung around her cheeks in waves, a mahogany frame to her faintly pudgy and charming features. Red was only just beginning to creep into her cheeks as the unnatural rush of blood to the head slowly increased.

“Yes, bro-bro?”

Dipper was sat on the edge of his own bed, scratching gently at the sleeve of his new red flannel (which was shaping up to be a favourite), looking sheepish and a touch lonely. “I need a first aid kit. Do you have one?”

An immediate flicker of worry ran through her, but Mabel nodded absently and reached underneath her bed, pulling out a green bag that she slid over to her brother. Gratefully, he opened the white zipper and pulled out some antiseptic cream and bandages, twisting one arm around to consider a large (but not deep) cut near the elbow.

“Jesus, Dip, what did this to you?” Quickly righting herself, Mabel shuffled over, touching the tender area with feather-light caresses. 

“I caught it on a door, that’s all.” Before she had a chance to raise her eyebrows, Dipper patted his twin’s hand softly. “Genuinely, that’s all that happened.”

Searching his expression, Mabel nodded. “I believe you, but at least let me help.” Laying out the bandages briskly, she began to clean the wound, practiced from so many summers in Oregon. Sunlight dappled on her hair and Dipper couldn’t help the fond smile that graced his lips; he would never stop being thankful for his sister. “I worry about you,” she whispered, eyes downcast. “You always seem to be struggling.”

“When haven’t I been?” Dipper quipped, yelping sharply as a dull sting shot through his arm. “Even before Gravity Falls, I was still a bit of an awkward loser.”

“If you didn’t have your jokey tone going, I’d hit you for saying that.” Mabel sounded unimpressed. “You wouldn’t be this… you wouldn’t be doing this badly, though.”

Twisting his head to the side, Dipper gave the struggling smile of a person on the verge of letting their emotions go, stoic as a soldier. Another rocketing twinge wracked his limb and he bit down on his lip. “C-careful, Mabes. And, well. Life just is what it is, I guess.”

Mabel didn’t respond until she had finished wrapping up the injury, cold, nimble fingers making quick work of it; her prowess as a knitter had _some_ uses beyond the craft itself. A determined musty scent rose up from the covers of the bed and tickled her nose - she snapped the first aid box shut and pushed it back under her own bed, going to sit with her brother. Clutching at his undamaged arm, she took in the scent of books and trees that clung to his shirts even after months at home. Gravity Falls seemed to follow her brother wherever he went, never letting him move on from the events of that summer, including - 

“Bill,” she muttered, staring at a tiny inked picture on the back of his hand.

“Yeah. I got bored in math.” He wiggled his fingers. “I find it soothing. He seems so harmless this way.”

“That’s fair. You know, Dip Dop, you’ll let go of Gravity Falls eventually. Not Grunkle Stan, or Ford, of course. But the stuff we went through, you’ll move past it.”

“I hope so.”

Resting her head on his shoulder, Mabel blinked into the sunlight filtering through the window. “I know so.” Dipper gave the most comforted sigh he had experienced in a while, nurturing the glow in his chest.

“I’m never gonna leave you, Mabes.”

\---

Dipper was acutely aware of the fact that he was crying.

In front of everyone.

Generally speaking, crying in public was not something Dipper Pines did - he didn’t enjoy being pitied, especially not by the assholes who would easily insult him in the same breath as comfort him. This was a one off case then, brought on by the stupid anxiety attack that had started as soon as his teacher had decided it would be an absolutely _wonderful_ idea to act out something _controversial_ , wouldn’t it? Because that was what acting could do!

However, it was probably not a good idea to ask teenagers to act out scenes to do with mental illness, especially not when at least a few of them had been forced to deal with the subject far more _personally_ than most.

“It’s okay, Dipper, just _breathe_.” Her hand was resting warm in the small of his back, other raised slightly in the air as she tried to help him calm back down. “I didn’t think, it was stupid of me to ask that of you. Teacher admits that she was wrong.” Glasses wobbling, she offered a smile and he returned a faint one.

“Can I go get some fresh air?” he eventually muttered, finally capable of coherent speech.

As he left the classroom, insanely thankful for the reprieve, Dipper was unfortunately privy to the dark mutter of one of his peers, something about knowing that ‘psycho would have to kick a fuss, wouldn’t he?’ The rest of the conversation petered out into whispers, but the point was made. Don’t let it show.

\---

“Pick a fucking _side,_ Pines.”

Dipper gave Tyler the most withering look he could manage before turning away, leafing through his book and making a brief note on his papers. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t be an idiot. I’m just here to tell you that you’re talking bullshit with your whole ‘bi’ thing. Word got around pretty fast. Everybody knows that girls only do it to get guys, and guys only do it to hide the fact that they’re a goddamn queer.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, this is a _library_. For study, not conversation.”

“Yeah? ‘S not my problem. I never agreed to the stinkin’ rules.” Tyler grabbed a chair from a nearby table and swung it around, sitting on it backwards so that his chin perched on the backrest. Curves of bright red hair danced derisively in the stuffy air. Much as Dipper wanted to just get on with his research into the stacks of source material built up around him, it was clear that the other boy had no intention of letting him study. “I’m just curious why ya felt like saying you were _bi_ was a good idea. I mean. I know you’re girly and kinda pathetic, but it’s not that hard to say you’re gay and get it over with, eh?”

“Patroclus and Achilles. Look them up,” Dipper offered, trying to maintain a steady gaze. “Ancient Greeks - Hellenes - famous lovers, both male, and renowned fighters. Maybe you should try to combat your stupid stereotypes a bit.”

Flipping through the classical history book open on the table, the red-haired teen gave a bark of laughter. “So what? Doesn’t change the fact that you’re effeminate as fuck, Pines. Just ‘cause some Greek people were gay doesn’t somehow make you bi.”

“Forget it,” Dipper muttered. “I didn’t ask for you to interrogate me.” Then he went back to drawing small triangles on spare notepaper and refused to acknowledge Tyler’s existence altogether.

\---

Dipper clicked his pen thoughtfully on the table, watching a girl open a ‘16th Birthday!’ card amidst a chorus of shrieking and singing. Notes were strewn over his desk (in preparation for a test that the teacher had planned for that day). Max leaned over and copied one of them sneakily onto his hand; Dipper showed no sign of having seen aside from an imperceptible nod of acquiescence.

“How’s it going, Pines?” Finished with his writing, Max leaned back in his chair and chewed widely on his pen lid, eyebrows raised. “Heard about that drama lesson of yours.”

“Oh god, of course you did.” Dipper rubbed at his forehead - making the birthmark there redden at the friction - and cursed inwardly. “Not my proudest moment, that. I’d rather not think on what people have said about it.”

Max shrugged with one shoulder. “It’s not too bad, honestly. Just that you kind of flipped out.”

“I’d rather there not be any stories at all,” he grumbled. 

Before Max could reply, the teacher stepped in and joyfully threw down a large stack of papers, prompting a flurry of movement from other students. People jumped down from perches on desks, pencil cases unzipping, raucous chatter reaching the level of a din as multiple conversations were loudly closed.

Max leaned over his desk, talking over the hubbub of shifting desks and teenagers. “My offer still stands, you know.” The other boy was oddly earnest, spiked brown hair bobbing. “The club’s gotten a lot more serious since we started, and we need a genuine investigator. You’re a good person, Dipper, for all your mental health gives you a hard time.” 

“I’ll think about it.”

\---

The bus to Gravity Falls pulled up, Mabel chittering away in Dipper’s ear. He eyed the town uncertainly - something felt different, somehow. Maybe it was just that he had gotten older. There was a lingering sense of something on the horizon, in any case, and the teen hoped to whatever deity there was that it wasn’t bad.

\---

“Well hello there, Pine Tree! Long time no see.”

“Oh god.”

\---

_A flurry of movement. Dipper fell flat on his back in the long grass, chuckling, as Bill Cipher hovered somewhere overhead, hands outstretched in preparation to tickle the kid mercilessly. His tall black hat almost lagged behind as he swooped down to enact revenge for some inane comment that the kid had made._

_Suddenly, the concept of friendship wasn’t so far away as it had initially been, and Dipper’s heart palpitated at the thought._

This was what was in the teen’s mind as he gazed down at Mabel’s prone form, struggling to maintain any semblance of certain sanity in the face of his decisions. Damnable, dangerous decisions that had opened rifts that Dipper didn’t think he could close. The bubbles of laughter came as naturally as the sharp breaths. He was just as dangerous as his classmates had always proposed, just as mad. They’d been right, and he’d been wrong. 

Maybe Ford had been right about him, too.

\---

“Pick. A. Side.”

Tyler’s hand grabbed violently at Dipper’s neck, pinning him to a vague grey wall, air barely reaching his lungs as the teen gasped and fought. Dipper was dreaming, and he knew it, achingly aware of the memory of his sister begging him to stop just hours before. Yet Tyler felt so damn _real_ at the moment. “Let… go…” Dipper huffed, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and obscuring his vision. “Please… let… go…”

“Pick a side, _Pinesy_. Pick a side, pick a side. Why is it so goddamn _difficult_ for you to _pick a side_?”

Dipper clawed at the hands around his throat. “I’m… bi, I can’t just… pick a side…”

“Bullshit,” the bully snarled. “And besides, that’s not even what I’m talking about, you _fucking idiot. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about!”_

“I don’t! I… don’t!”

Dipper’s vision was starting to blot out, darkness crawling in at the edges and he welcomed it, until the hand suddenly disappeared and punched his cheek, leaving a smarting red mark. He fell to the floor. Wheezing, Dipper tried to stand but settled for kneeling down on the chilled tiles his mind supplied, blackness stretching out in all directions around him.

“Pick a side, Dipshit. Very simple, very simple indeed. What’ll it be?”

Mabel stepped out of the darkness and tried to go to help him, held back by a barrier that he couldn’t see. She slammed her fists against the invisible wall and cried out to him. “Bro-bro? Where are you going? Why are you leaving us?” Tyler mocked her shouts, kicking violently at the barrier and smirking. 

Dipper had almost steeled himself to stand and walk over when he heard a voice that made him stall, and bile rise in his throat.

“Aw, leaving me already, Pine Tree? I thought we had somethin’! But maybe it really was just a deal to you.” Bill was similarly held back, hands pressed against his restraint, lighting up the darkness with his soothing golden radiance. “I can’t say I’m surprised, kid. Bit disappointed though.” His eyelid curved in regret, slitted pupil looking the teen up and down and finding him lacking.

Ford and Stan had joined Mabel on the other side. “Cipher? Really?” Stanford’s disgust was clear.

Stan ducked down to Dipper’s level, eyes directly focused on the teen’s own. “Be happy, ya hear me? Ya can’t find happiness with _him._ ”

“I - I don’t know,” Dipper whined, clutching at his head. “I can’t decide! I don’t want to decide!”

“Well, ya have to.” Tyler was stood directly in front of him, kicking the teen sharply in the shin and smiling sickeningly at the cries that followed. “Pick a side, Dipshit, that’s how it’s always been, how it always will be. Even if you don’t now, you’ll have to later, or regret it when all of them abandon you. Your family, or the closest you have to a friend. Pick a side!”

“Dipper?”

“Pine Tree.”

“Kiddo, ya can’t seriously be considering him, he’s _evil_ \- “

“I’ve got the world in my hands, kid, and I’m more than willin’ to share, aren’t we _friends_ \- ”

Dipper covered his eyes. The voices continued, over and over, until the mantra of ‘pick a side!’ was ringing mercilessly in his mind. He was holding a bloodied Journal, standing over his Grunkle, then he was stood with Mabel, arms covered in tiny puncture holes from pointed forks. Starting with quiet hiccups, he began to laugh. It quickly increased in speed and volume until he was outright screaming; the sound merely echoed back at him until a building pressure in his throat finally blacked out the nightmare entirely.

***

Bill sharply yanked out of the human’s mind. He hadn’t put that dream there - that was purely the kid’s own subconscious… With the rest of what he’d seen, the vibrancy of it was relatively unsurprising.

The teenager in question was lying on his side on the frozen flagstones, shaking uncontrollably and sobbing. His eyes were unfocused and bleary. Bill supposed that it was to be expected, considering he’d just relived some of his worst memories firsthand. The added dash of existential crisis caused by it probably hadn’t helped… Bill cast a slightly pitying look at the boy before floating down, enlarging himself and scooping Dipper into his arms, murmuring quiet nothings, wondering how on the earth Pine Tree had been even tenuously close to sanity when he’d arrived in Gravity Falls that year.

There was remarkably little activity in the kid’s mind at that moment, just the constant thrum of hurt that came from the past. He was suddenly awfully malleable…

Bill had an idea. A terrible, wonderful idea, and he was already proud of it.

“Pine Tree,” he cooed, hand placed diplomatically under the human’s chin. “Pines, look at me, it’s okay, kid. It’s all in the past.”

Mind slightly open due to their link, Bill daringly prodded a hand into the kid’s thoughts and memories, grinning internally with the ease at which he could pry them open. If Dipper felt it, he didn’t show any signs of worry; looking directly into the demon’s eye, Bill was confident that the teen was entirely unaware.

One of the many positives of his tampering with the Pines family was that Bill knew exactly which areas to target in his work, all of the best times that they had spent together in the past few months, which were admittedly few due to his monopoly on Pine Tree’s time. Any information he needed had been right there, and what would have been a minute’s work on Sixer, Fez and Star had become many more as he’d gathered all the knowledge he wanted.

Even so, Bill had never expected to be doing this quite so _soon_ as he was.

The metaphorical hand became braver, pressing on the memories of this summer. A finger teased forward the positive memories of the demon (and pushed back the blackmail just a touch), times with family slowly falling into vague obscurity. He dug a little further and, oh, this was _interesting_ … The kid was harbouring the startings of a _crush_. That was a problem for another day, and Bill simply left those feelings untouched in favour of moving the event with the cult into prominence. This was probably breaking one of their deals, somehow. 

Bill wasn’t worried.

The link between the two of them was too strong now, too many deals, too much magic and time shared. Even if the demon didn’t have Dipper dancing to his tune quite yet, he would soon. It was easy. Almost too easy. 

Deciding that was enough, Bill removed his presence carefully, making sure that the mind didn’t collapse from too sudden a retreat. It wobbled faintly - he hissed in panic - and then settled, more than capable of dealing with misuse. Chancing a genuine look at the human, something closer to _deference_ shone in his brown eyes; the defiance was still there, but not nearly as prominently.

Success.

He tapped Dipper’s nose and smirked faintly with his eye, testing his work. “I mean, really, ‘we are part of a higher calling’? ‘They should have been nicer to us’? You’ve always had a bit of it in ya.”

“That was a long time ago, and I was very unwell.” Dipper tried to push away, to remove himself from Bill’s tight hold, but his attempts were weak and he fell back into the waiting arms with a huff. Guilt flickered over his features. Then a touch of tenderness. Bill recognised the thrum of confusion that partnered his little bouts of ‘editing’.

“Hey - kid, why fight this? You’re gonna be betraying your family whatever you do, you know, and I can look after ya pretty well. I don’t _want_ to be your enemy, Pine Tree. I don’t wanna have you try to fight for your family’s support or understanding if you get caught again.” His reverberating voice had become dulcet; the tremors and quavers made Dipper shiver in his arms. “Look at your life. Everyone and everything has tried to knock ya down, but you’re still standing. You’re strong. I can offer you power. I can offer you anything you could possibly want.”

Dipper looked at the floor.

“You’ve already gone this far. Why not make it official? Join me, PT, be my accomplice because you want to, not just ‘cause I have a claim on you.” Bill twisted the human’s palm around and tapped at the tiny black triangle tattooed there. “Whaddya say? You think you might be up for that?”

The human was shaking. _‘Got to - no choice - how did I - has a point - get here?’_ Flurries of thoughts were slipping through. _‘Why not - lonely - good so - did to Ford - know about it - suffered. Don’t - love hi- family hardly - ’_

“Pine Tree? I can’t outright read your mind, ya know.”

Increasingly motionless, Dipper’s breathing evened out, a spark of determination flashing behind his eyes. He pulled the grasp of the demon closer around him and leaned against Bill’s front, looking up to meet the one-eyed gaze. 

“Okay, Bill.” To the demon’s joy, his voice was strong and certain. “I’ll join you… Yeah. Yeah. I’ve taken enough shit from the world.”

Pushing out of Bill’s arms, he rubbed at his face and stood on the flagstones uncertainly, attempting to straighten his back and look assured but not quite managing it. “I’m gonna be doing this anyway. We may as well work towards a common goal, right? Whatever that goal… whatever it is.” Running his fingers through his hair, he seemed very much to be a man on the precipice of collapse. “Do we have to do anything to make it… official?”

By way of explanation, Bill grabbed Dipper’s palm and twisted it around again. Looking up for an agreement, he watched the teen nod uncertainly, faint thrills of _success_ running along his form. “OK, Pine Tree. This won’t hurt.” Applying a slight finger to the tiny triangle, Bill channeled his power into it, prompting the tattoo to grow and shift. An eye blinked against Dipper’s wrist, apparently grinning along with its creator.

Dipper took back his arm, considering the miniature Bill that winked back up at him. “This is some demon societal stuff, isn’t it?”

“Got it, PT. Just a stronger claim. Designed to be… not invisible to humans per se, but not noticeable. Fordsy used to have one.”

“Where?”

“Tramp stamp.” Bill watched the human gasp and then begin to laugh, a relieved sound, full of bells and jangling notes. 

“Oh god, of course. What else.” Dipper smiled down at his claim and shrugged one sleeve over it, no longer distraught. Or rather, not visibly: an aura of knotted misery was present that hadn’t been there before. The demon rather hoped he hadn’t permanently damaged his Pine Tree. That would be annoying.

For now though, the kid was also painfully reassured by the finality of a decision. Dipper liked to know what was going on and how he felt about it very exactly. Working with something so potentially fragile had been a point of stress that he hadn’t noticed until it was gone - 

\- but now he was the bad guy. _Irreversibly._

That would take a while to get used to. 

Casting a glance at the demon, he noticed the satisfied gaze trained on him, and knew that Bill had achieved something that he’d not expected to manage. So, Dipper had been a challenge. Maybe could become an equal...Rubbing at the new image on his wrist, the teen couldn’t help but allow an enamoured smile to reach his features, and wonder if the decision hadn’t finally been a new beginning for somebody who mourned the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN:  
> I dunno how I feel about this one??? But my beta said to go for it and lo, I did. Bill was not meant to be this manipulative, honestly, I don’t know what happened. I think he’s just an irredeemable asshole in general... if you’re looking for a ‘volte-face’ with Dipper, then this is pretty much it.
> 
> SONG: Medicine by Daughter


	11. The Beginning

In, out. 

In, out.

In, out.

Dipper sat up in his bed and felt his breathing stutter and deepen. In, out. He’d been sat like this for what felt like hours but had probably only been minutes, desperately trying to maintain some kind of grip on the veritable somersaults going on in his mind. He was confused. He hated Bill. He loved Bill. He was bitter about his family. He forgave them. He was tired of being unsure, and for all he’d finally put all of his metaphorical eggs in the demon’s similarly metaphorical basket, he couldn’t quite convince himself that it had been an intelligent choice.

Was he going mad? Maybe. His thoughts had been running in circles for days. He was good, he was bad, he was justified and then he was a failure.

_ ‘Shut up, kid. You’re driving me nuts with this stupid fretting.’ _

_ ‘I’m sorry if I’m a bit taken aback by the whole ‘joined my old nemesis’ deal, it’s not what I thought would happen this summer.’ _

_ ‘You seemed fine with it yesterday.’ _

Finally calming his breathing, Dipper squeezed his pillow and gazed interminably at his pill bottle and the dim starlight filtering through the triangular window. Mabel’s chest rose and fell in the bed across from him. Normally the sight would inspire unbelievable guilt, but now he merely suffered from a gentle pang of nostalgia.

One thing that Dipper had noticed upon returning home the day before was that his family felt more like… like an aged polaroid. An old memory of life, a set of emotions and experiences that would slowly be forgotten with the passage of time.

_ ‘I know I seemed fine, but it’s not as easy as just… switching sides.’  _ Even thinking it was difficult.  _ ‘I may need a while. Everything is conflicting in my head.’ _

_ ‘I sure hope not, kid, with the stuff I have planned.’ _

This made the teen sit up in bed, jittering.  _ ‘Like what?’ _

_ ‘You aren’t gonna want to be feeling uncertain about our alliance with the rest of your studies, that’s all.’  _ Bill’s normal shriek had quietened considerably.  _ ‘I never said that this was gonna be easy.’ _

_ ‘Yeah, but you did say it would be my best summer yet.’ _

_ ‘I was mocking you, and you know it.’ _

Reaching for Journal 3 (which he’d stolen very effectively from Ford), Dipper caressed the leather cover and gave a wan smile. Leafing through the rough, forest-scented pages, he eventually reached the one with Bill on it.  _ ‘It’s weird, to look at you like that.’  _ The inked black illustration leered upwards at him.  _ ‘Like nothing more than an enemy.’ _

_ ‘Well, ya ain’t twelve anymore, kid. You can make your own judgements.’ _

“Do not summon at all costs…” the teen breathed, exhaustion hitting in a wave.

_ ‘You don’t have to live by Sixer’s rules, yanno. I promise you, Pine Tree, your mind will settle down quicker than you realise. Now sleep.’ _

Dipper, slightly more comfortable, placed the Journal on the floor beside his bed and yanked the covers up to his chin. Warm, and oddly cheered, he quickly fell asleep. Bill leeched a careful hand back into the teen’s thoughts and eased his nerves, pausing as the temptation of a bit more  _ editing  _ became increasingly powerful. Evidently his previous efforts hadn’t been strong enough, but the demon had learned his lesson. Under his... ministrations, the kid wouldn’t have to struggle with this, and Dipper’s plague of worries and uncertainties were soon gone.

For  _ good _ .

***

The warmth that Dipper awoke to was foreign, as was the minimal headache that seared further back than usual. Normally his early morning sufferings were powerful, and heavily concentrated on one side of his forehead, but this was more of a roundabout pain, as though something had attempted to whisk his brain - which was probably not the greatest mental image to wake up to, honestly. 

Although it wasn’t as good as the headache dispersing entirely, it was a welcome change. He felt far lighter than he had done for months, possibly including high school; the worries and thrum of anxiety that normally battered his mind relentlessly had dimmed to a far more manageable level, minimised down to a vague concern about Mabel and little else. 

He blinked down at his wrist and the triangle blinked back, inked iris becoming a barely visible slit before dilating again. To Dipper’s surprise, the image carried very little weight or guilt; somehow, the knowledge that he’d betrayed his family wasn’t as damning as it should have been. If anything, he was almost apathetic. A niggling warm glow at his core was all that betrayed the teen’s feelings on the matter, that persistent pang of an undefined love that he hadn’t taken the time to work out just yet. Dipper didn’t  _ think  _ that he was… romantically interested yet (Bill was a  _ triangle, _ what the  _ hell _ ) but the worry remained. 

As shouts and laughter rang from the kitchen, he thanked his stars that Stan and Ford no longer remembered what had occurred prior. They would definitely have opinions on the teen’s uncertain feelings.

_ ‘Busy day today, kid. We’re gonna need a hell of a lot of candles.’ _

Shrugging with a wry smile, Dipper gave a quick affirmative reply and hummed to himself as he pulled his clothing on. Today felt good. Today  _ would _ be good. The Journal lay open on the floor at  his feet; he lifted it up nigh reverently, tracing one of Bill’s inked sides gently. Billows of crimson still stained a large portion of the double page spread. How had it gotten so damaged? Maybe Ford had been less careful with the insertion of the metal plate than Dipper initially thought.

What a disgusting mental image. For the hundredth time, the teen felt a wash of hot relief that his Grunkle hadn’t been allowed to do the same to him, to block away the demon that had given the teen some footing in the world. 

Snapping the leather tome shut, he snuck the Journal away, leaving the room without noticing Mabel’s confused and considered gaze at his back. 

***   
Bill could see the change.

Admittedly, he had been able to see the subtle developments in Dipper’s behaviour for the past month and more, but it had never been so pronounced as when the teen veritably  _ skipped _ into the line of sight of the trees and yelled for the demon. His backpack was slung loosely over one shoulder, hair absent mindedly brushed, manner far more relaxed than it had been for the entirety of the summer thus far.

“Bill, I know you’re around!” The teen was almost offended, rocking back on his heels and considering the clumps of trees. Hundreds of eyes gazed down and yet he barely registered their previously malevolent gaze. 

“Make yourself a bit more conspicuous, Pine Tree. Go ahead.” Mock annoyed, the demon dragged Dipper into the Mindscape with a sharp yank, snickering at the faint gasp this elicited. “Just yell my name wherever. Ain’t gonna alert Sixer to your actions at  _ all _ .”

“Sorry.” The apology didn’t sound wholly genuine. “I’m in a weirdly good mood. Guess I’m not thinking properly.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say  _ that _ , Pine Tree. Differently, maybe.” Giggling at his personal joke, Bill waved Dipper along a new path, ignoring the confused questions as to their plans. “Nice to know your fallible human mind’s treating you well.”

The sly tone that undercut the demon’s words made Dipper suspect that there was some kind of message that wasn’t being explicitly offered, but he decided not to pursue it, instead continuing to badger Bill about the need for so many magical items. An almost Mabel-esque ability to persuade had surfaced; it wasn’t long before the teen got what he wanted, arms covered in reddened scratches where his lack of concentration on the path had punished him.

“You  _ really wanna know,  _ Pine Tree?”

“Of course I do!” the human cried, waving lanky limbs in impassioned frustration. Musky morning air nipped at his hands and he drew them close to his body, massaging the fingers gently.

“Today’s the day,” Bill chirruped, puffing up proudly. “Spell’s perfected, kid!”

Dipper tipped his head to one side. “Spell? What - oh,  _ that _ spell.” To the teen’s surprise, he found that he had entirely forgotten the promise to create a physical form for the demon. With all the excitement surrounding his decision and trying to cover their tracks, it’d been nothing but a brief afterthought amongst the cobalt flames of endless deals and agreements. At this point, it was probable that their complex chart of transactions would take up reams of paper, were they written down. 

“Yuhuh. Mind you, it’s gonna take a while to get to the place we gotta be, so… uh.” It was evident that Bill wasn’t very well equipped to deal with small talk. “How’s the fam?”

“Stan and Mabel are pretty much as normal. Ford keeps bugging me about going out on trips. Just casually, you know, he’s not pulling me around the forests anymore, but it’s still pretty much a daily thing.”

“Sixer would. Always had that obsession with ‘furthering his findings’ for the ‘betterment of mankind’ or some shit.”

Sprigs of azure growth began to wash in at the human’s feet, brittle bluebells bobbing their heads courteously as his dirtied jeans brushed against their hollow stems. There was an odd imperfection to everything in the forest - the flowers were beautiful, plentiful and fecund, yet their petals were invariably speckled with ringlets of brown decay. Sap and earth clung onto Dipper’s trainers as determinedly as the scent of concentrated ozone that had sunk irreversibly into a majority of his shirts; even now it lingered in the fresh morning air.

Dipper was trying to take in the experience of the forest by now, to take in enough of the smell that he could conjure it up in his mind at any time. Since that first summer, it had become habit to focus heavily on one moment, to think ‘this will never happen again, and I have to treasure it’. It made his depressive lows a lot more bearable.

Unfortunately, these musings meant that Bill had traveled some distance ahead, and Dipper hurried forward, thinking on what to discuss. 

“Come on, PT! Get your head outta the clouds.” Bill continued to float along, rather more quickly than was fair. “Something eatin’ ya? You’ve look like you’re thinking. It’s a weird thing to see.”

“Oh, shut up.” Dipper had to increase the speed of his gait to a skip to keep up with the demon. “I’m just curious - what exactly happened between you and Sixer then? I mean, Grunkle Ford told me once, but I can't help the feeling that he probably omitted a lot.”

Bill gave the loudest, brashest  _ HA!  _ that Dipper had heard from him yet, a small black hand covering his nonexistent mouth. To the teen’s relief, he slowed his flight considerably to talk. “Oh, Pine Tree, remind me to tell you the full story someday, it's really quite the  _ doozy _ . We don't have time for it it now, but I can tell you that there was an element of  _ romance  _ to it. Good old Sixer. If only I hadn't been manipulating him the whole time, we could have had something beautiful.” The triangle’s gaze slipped over the human, teasing out the meaning behind any change in Dipper’s body language; to the boy’s credit, he maintained a solid poker face.

“Wait… What?” Dipper looked painfully bemused, but his voice was just a touch too loud to be casual when he spoke. “You were in a relationship with Ford? You're a triangle! A demonic, non-humanoid being with boundless knowledge…”

The teen stopped to think.

“Actually, knowing my Grunkle, that's not that unbelievable.” He definitely sounded delicately strained. “Always fancied himself as quite the oddity. Oh, god, that's simultaneously the best and  _ worst  _ thing I've ever heard.”

Bill seemed excited now, hat bobbing and voice growing even louder in his fervour. “That's not even the HALF OF IT, kid! You should have seen the jealous look on Fiddy’s face when I was around! A real love  _ triangle,  _ with an actual triangle taking part! Only, I wasn't actually in love. I don't  _ think  _ that's possible for a demon.” Seeing the brief chill that hit Dipper, the dream demon exalted inwardly and backpedaled. “Friendships are all good though! Alliances and the like. So I can pester you  _ all I want. _ ”

Sometimes Bill remembered just how old - or rather, how young - Dipper was, and this was one of those moments. The petulant huff that escaped despite all attempts to remain outwardly casual, the flicker of brown eyes that tried to consider the ground rather than the demon, the prickling flush - only cusping sixteen, Bill mused, and on occasion it really showed. He was hardly going to complain, though. Teenagers were arguably the most impressionable of people.

“Idiot.” Dipper hitched his backpack further up and grinned at the sound of a cluster of candles clicking together, ignoring the frustrating voice in his mind that repeated  _ ‘not possible _ ’. “Soon I’ll be able to punch you in the arm for saying dumb stuff like that, no matter where we are. I can’t  _ wait _ .”

“Gee, Pine Tree, you’re really selling it to me.” Bill’s voice had noticeably increased in pitch in spite of the droll response and it made Dipper smile to hear him genuinely excited about something. “It’s an ingenious spell though, really - I’m amazed at myself for inventing it!”

“Ever the picture of modesty,” the boy replied quickly, smirking. “Go on then, what does it do?”

“Oh, it’s pretty simple really, kid. It’s like opening a rift between our dimensions. Or more of a tear, I suppose. Just big enough to let me through in my physical form. You know, I was gonna just open a massive rift anyway, let everyone through.” The nasty giggle that Dipper disliked slipped out. “Decided against that though. Went for the more subtle approach, as you can see.”

Relieved, the teen nodded mutely. If Bill had gone along with the initial plan then he’d probably have done so years before, and wouldn’t have attempted to befriend the human. The thought bothered Dipper far more than it should have done; he elected to ignore this in favour of fiddling with the sleeves of his hoodie and considering the forest. Thick branches bristled from every direction, decorated with berries that he couldn’t recognise despite having travelled almost every inch of the land. His own heavy footfalls were a source of constant anxiety, and Dipper found himself aching for a distraction. “What’s your overall... plan, then?” 

Twisting his entire body around, Bill’s disbelief was palpable. “You finally decided to ask, huh?” While the words were harsh, none of the cruelty carried in the demon’s tone. “It’s pretty simple, kid. You know most of it. We’re harnessing the magic pooled in your atmosphere and testing it out, see where the constraints are, how to cause some damage.” 

“Damage? That doesn’t sound all that grandiose, Bill.” 

“You implying I’m a drama queen?” The demon wiped crocodile tears from his eye, snickering in spite of himself. “Nah, totally am. There’s more to what we’re doing, of course. ‘Damage’ is the most underwhelming word for it.” He grew quieter. “Prophecies always come true, one way or another.”

Before Dipper could formulate a suitable question in response, the pair had reached the clearing that Bill wanted to use. Unlike the one they’d visited at the start of summer, this was very small, a circle of beaten earth that could only have been a few yards in diameter. Perfect for summoning circles. Rolling his shoulders back, Dipper dropped the backpack to the ground, briefly flattening what mounds of dirt he could see with a quick command. 

“Nice control, PT,” Bill muttered. “Your subtlety has really come along.”

“Not setting fire to myself anymore, huh? Check this out.” The human took a step and dropped to the floor, digging the fingers of either hand into the soil and whispering briefly. A pulse of energy rushed out - his outer shirt billowed emphatically - and two strings of white light burst out from beneath his hands. They snaked sluggishly along the curvature of the clearing, eventually meeting directly across from Dipper. 

“See? Perfect circle every time! I just need to turn down the brightness a bit.” 

He did so, and proceeded to empty the heaving contents of his bag onto the ground, grasping a vial of crimson and quirking a questioning look at Bill. Yes. So, this was yet another example of necromancy; Dipper casually stored that information away for later use. Tracing the magical outline, he drew a perfect circle on the dirt using the blood, thankful for the spells that prevented it congealing in the bottle. In comparison to the stone they were used to, the liquid soaked into the ground and he grumbled as he tried to place all of the 20 candles equal distance apart along barely visible lines. 

“You got that parchment, kid?” Bill had been watching from a perch in the trees all the while.

“Yeah, it wasn’t easy though.” Dipper (now sprinkling summoning salts in a neat cross along the middle) pointed distractedly at the items on the ground. “It’s somewhere amid that lot.”

Tutting faintly at the mess, the demon hovered down to rest on the ground, feet playfully kicking at the mud. He rooted through a collection of papers, notes, pens and cheap key-chains before alighting upon a singular piece of ancient parchment. It was one of Ford’s most prized items; he could hardly complain about its theft, considering it was Bill who’d given it to him in the first place. With a quick burst of magic, the demon burned neat blueprints into its surface, all of the guidance that the spell would need to make the form work.

Smoothing it out, he walked into the centre of the circle and lay the parchment open there, directly on top of the salts that Dipper had been laying down. Checking his own set of general summoning notes, Dipper raised an eyebrow. “This is the normal ‘large scale’ layout, according to the book. What else is there?”

“Just the words, kid. I got ‘em written down… here!”

Not for the first time, the teen felt a sharp pain sear down his arm and he yelped loudly, glaring furiously at the string of words running along his skin below his blinking tattoo. Bill giggled at the smouldering expression on his friend’s face. 

“You think you’re just the funniest thing ever, huh?” Dipper scratched at the new marks. 

“You bet I do! This time tomorrow, you can witness my pranks real time! Remember that screaming head?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Shaking his head fondly, the teen stretched his limb out and scanned the words, testing a few of them on his tongue. Nothing too difficult… another prong of excitement made him shiver softly, reminded of the fact that this was insane. To bring Bill Cipher into reality - well, it meant the end of the world itself,  _ surely _ ... 

Dipper smirked and positioned himself at the edge of the circle.

Taking this to be acquiescence, Bill flew up to hover above the parchment, half a metre above head height. He allowed his body to loosen, almost, hat bobbing lazily as his hands hung apathetically below his base. “Ready to go, Pine Tree.”

_ “Amicus meus…” _ Dipper began, proudly reciting the spell without staggering or slipping over the unfamiliar wording. As he did so, every candle flared in unison, burning bright blue and bathing the clearing in eerie cobalt. Shadows were cast from the trees surrounding into the forest, making the lengthy pines look even more imposing in the ethereal glow; the hiss and fizz of the salts grew in volume until they were battling with the words of the spell for dominance.

The last few words tumbled forth from Dipper’s mouth and he staggered faintly at the sudden drain of magic, skin oddly cold as his power channeled into the circle. As though drawing a breath, everything silenced, pausing to manipulate the power correctly.

Bill disappeared.

There was a burst of blinding light and a violent pulse of magic. Dipper swore, covering his eyes and stumbling back into the dirt, skin burning at the sudden return of the feverish sensation in his chest. Even as his hoodie streaked with mud, he propped himself up on one arm and shielded his eyes from the onslaught, squinting. Strings of light - just like those of the tree - were coalescing in the middle of the summoning circle, seeping up from Dipper’s chest and rising out of the flames of each flickering candle. As they grouped together they shifted from their blue hue to gold; sure enough, the radiant glow dimmed as bricks formed.

“Holy  _ shit _ ,” the teen whispered, tucking his legs beneath him and watching, enraptured.

Spindly arms and legs sprouted forth from Bill’s new sides, charcoal black, wires wrapping around one another before hardening into the smooth limbs Dipper was used to. A slit grew laboriously in the centre of the triangle, fluttering open to reveal a singular, ecstatic eye, marking the slow end to the magical display. There was one final sputter of movement; instantaneously, every candle was snuffed, plunging the clearing into veritable darkness.

There was one light source, however. Bill.

He  _ shone. _

“AHAHA! WELCOME  _ BACK  _ GRAVITY FALLS! AFTER ONE  _ TRILLION  _ YEARS IN THE MINDSCAPE, I’M FINALLY FREE OF MY DECAYING DIMENSION!” 

Clenching and unclenching his fists, the demon laughed delightedly at the blue flames sparking up along the length of his limbs. “Oh man, it feels  _ so good  _ to be real! I’d forgotten what a having a physical form felt like! With actual  _ sensation _ ! You fleshbags really have something good goin’ here!“ Still ablaze, he looked down at the human. Noting the way Dipper knelt there, Bill’s eye squinted in what seemed to be a demon equivalent to gritting his teeth - a definite desire was hidden behind his voice as he addressed the human. “Thank you, Pine Tree.” 

“Yeah.” The teen was breathless, dazzled. His hair had blown back to reveal his birthmark in full; his eyes were covered by a glimmering sheen of amazement. “That was... different.”

As Bill tested his limbs and flew down to Dipper, the previously ethereal glow the demon possessed had become far more solid. No more did he look faintly illusory - everything about him was shockingly  _ real _ . When Dipper reached an arm out to touch Bill’s front the ridged feeling of bricks grazed his fingers. The demon’s singular eye was ever so slightly veined and watery, thick eyelashes framing it dramatically. The four slender black limbs snaked out from underneath his body and resembled silicone, both in texture and appearance.

Bill grasped the human’s hand (apparently tired of the prodding) and the heat that emanated from it was greater than it ever had been.

“You’re real.” Dipper muttered. “You’re real. You’re  _ here.” _

Suddenly overcome by impassioned excitement, the teen practically threw himself at the demon, arms wrapping around his sides and joyfully leeching the warmth away. Bill shrieked as his arms were pinned underneath Dipper’s own; he had to consciously shift them beneath his body to awkwardly return the tight hug. With a physical body, the shift from canary yellow to gentle sandstone was even more pronounced than before. “I… thanks, kid. Didn’t think you’d be this pleased about it.”

“Why not?” 

“Well,” Bill muttered, fiddling with a newly velvet bow. “Now it’s time to move ahead with our studies. I hope you’re ready to get your hands  _ genuinely _ dirty, kid.”

Dipper gave a disbelieving huff, twisting his head to the side questioningly. Quickly swapping a few mental messages, the teen bit down at his lip, trying to withhold the bubbles of panic in his chest.

***

“Evening Dipper!”

Ford’s overt cheeriness made Dipper wince as he sluggishly walked back into the shack, late and exhausted. Allowing the door to slam needlessly behind him, the teen peered into the veritable darkness, noting the box that his great uncle was holding. Not  _ again _ .

“You feeling up to a board game? I know Mabel was wanting to-”

“Not right now, Grunkle Ford. I’m tired.” Dipper tried to smile but it probably looked more like a grimace. “I’ll be in the attic if you need me.”

Sighing gently, Ford turned to Mabel (who had been hiding behind a doorway) and shrugged. A flicker of frustration crossed his features just as easily as her own. 

“I know you’re trying to support him, Grunkle Ford, but I -”

“No, no, Mabel, I entirely understand your frustration.” He hurried her into the lounge and huffed at the sight of his twin occupying the main chair, obviously having absolutely no intention in moving. Instead he sat his great niece at the small side table and pulled out a special edition version of ‘the Barbie Game.’ He watched her eyes brighten appreciatively and she neatly set out the cards, waving Stan over to play.

“Your brother still being a wad?” The aged Mystery Shack proprietor could barely extract himself from the comfort of his prime TV seat but eventually wandered over, grabbing a wooden chair and choosing the pink playing piece. 

“Yeah.” Mabel sighed and rested her hand on her chin. “He’s super distant. I know they say that people naturally grow apart. Didn’t think it’d be this quick, though.”

Ford rolled the dice and landed on the ‘date’ square, humming thoughtfully over a selection of four stereotypical male faces. “None of these are really my type. And well, I don’t know Mabel, your brother’s a complicated person. I’ve gotten on the wrong side of him before.”

“The ginger one’s cute,” she muttered miserably, and her Grunkle gave an appreciative nod before adding ‘Brian’ to his collection. 

“My turn, loser.” Stan grasped the dice and rolled quickly, landing on the ‘formal dress’ square. “I’m having the one with the pinched waistline.” Noticing the way that his twin huffed, he laughed triumphantly. “Hell yeah, I’m gonna be the hottest prom queen ever!”

“Whatever. According to this card,  _ I’m  _ the most popular girl in school.” Ford waved a ‘Surprise!’ card in front of his brother’s glasses, making sure it caught the end of his nose at least once. “ _ And _ I’m the president of the Scholarship Club.”

“Scholarship Club? Christ, you’re even a nerd when you’re playing the Barbie Game.”

Snickering at the exploits of her great uncles, Mabel still couldn’t help but notice the lack of her own twin at the table. He ought to be participating in their family activities - as summers went, this one had been pretty good, save for Dipper’s sudden bout of extreme introversion. She didn’t trust leaving people to their own devices for too long. Some were altogether too prone to shut everybody out the more time they spent alone. 

As Stan somehow managed to amass more money than was statistically possible (much to his brother’s confusion), she gazed down at ‘Ken’ and mused. Potential plans were forming in the back of her mind.

“I win! I’m the Prom Queen! Bow down to me, peasants!” Stan pointed a smug finger at Ford, who narrowed his eyes. “You lose, Sixer! You do all the washing for a week.”

“At least my date is actually cute,” the twin grumbled, bizarrely petulant. Slowly packing up his money, he noticed Mabel’s distant gaze and became aware of a sharp jab of sympathy. “Hey. Mabel. What’s wrong?”

“I’m just planning. Do you think we could… Grunkle Stan, do we still have access to that RV?” 

Stan blinked, ‘Prom Queen’ written inexplicably in orange felt tip on his forehead. “I think so. Why, watcha planning?”

“I think I know how to make Dipper talk to us again.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stan would be the best Prom Queen, we all know it.
> 
> This chapter is a) late and b) not fabulous, so I apologise. Exams are coming up for me shortly, but I have a week of holiday after. I’ll try to get through as much of the story as possible during that time - a large portion of the ending is written anyway. Thanks for reading!
> 
> SONG: ‘Starting to Like It’ by King Baby James


	12. Excursions of the Family Kind

“FAMILY ROAD TRIP!”

Dipper blinked blearily at his sister, mouth too full of soggy ‘Crispy Decagons’ to respond. In spite of this, Mabel continued to wave inordinate numbers of pamphlets in front of his face, ignoring the look which (to most people) would be read as ‘rather pissed off’. The female Pines was not to be deterred; her brother’s ire went ignored as she laid the papers down, one by one, casting nervous glances up at his unimpressed face.

“You see, you’ve obviously been… busy, so we were thinking - Grunkle Stan and Ford and me - that we could go out for a road trip! Just like when we were twelve. Only now with twice the Grunkle! And fewer awkward encounters with girls. You know, it’s kinda funny looking back on it, it’s no wonder you failed so spectacularly with that, bro, because your male pref-”

“Mabel.” The male twin was gripping his spoon so tightly his knuckles were paperwhite.

“Yes, bro-bro?” 

“Please be quiet.”

While Ford and Stan had remained silent throughout, Dipper could see the hopeful glint in their eyes and knew that they were as invested in the idea as his sister was. Bill’s editing had been far better with the two older men; they tied far fewer of their summer experiences with their nephew. Mabel, on the other hand, constantly worried about her brother, and as such she seemed to have retained some of her old concerns and fears.

As a result, he’d been thoroughly scrubbing away at any hint of blood on his person before going back into the shack, using every safe scouring spell that Bill had to offer. There were, it turned out, a surprisingly large amount - maybe Dipper would actually return before 9pm without his obsessive cleaning. 

He was petrified of getting (re)caught. As the demon had warned, once the family knew, it was game over.

“Oh, uh… sure thing, Dip!” Mabel didn’t allow any disappointment to linger on her features for long, gently laying the papers down by her brother’s breakfast and offering one plaintive glance before skipping upstairs to change.

Stan and Ford exchanged a look.

“Is this a bad day for ya, kid? We can always reschedule it-” Stanley’s gruff, caring tone only served to frustrate the teen more, spoon crashing onto the wood of the table unceremoniously as he attempted a smile. Judging by the discomfort evident in the Grunkles, Dipper was only barely managing it.

“Oh no. It’s absolutely fine. I didn’t have any  _ plans whatsoever _ , so we can just go do that. As a family. How nice.”

‘ _ Whoa there PT, calm it down. Really not a master of subtlety.’ _ ’

Truth be told, Dipper was verging on a Bad Day already. He hadn’t dealt with a proper one in weeks, thankfully distracted by Bill, and as a result the mood swing hit like a brick to the face. He wanted little more than to curl up in bed and dance flickers of blue flame over the pads of his fingers, or to sun himself out on the flagstones of Bill’s temple. With Bill. Possibly holding the warm, black hand of the demon in his own. Purely for curiosity’s sake, of course; Dipper found his cheeks reddening at the thought, sensation of living silicone still imprinted in his mind from the day before.

Part of the frustration, Dipper reasoned, was due to the fact that his friend had only just gotten a body and yet he had to go away. Be under the watchful eye of his family. 

‘ _ Impatient, aren’t ya? Don’t worry about it, kid. I assure you, we’ll have plenty of time together in the future. For now, just act the part of a good little great nephew and don’t get caught.’ _

_ ‘Whatever you say.’  _ The teen barely caught Ford’s response to his angered griping, something about ‘relaxing’, ‘focusing on more than studies for a little while, hm?’ Which was rich, really, coming from Stanford ‘I abandoned my brother over a college’ Pines. Dipper didn’t vocalise this sentiment, choosing instead to nod rigidly and dump what he hadn’t eaten into the sink.

***

“Alright Soos, you’re in charge of the Mystery Shack for a few days. Think you can handle it?” 

If Stan had any reservations about handing over control of his beloved tourist trap to his handyman, he hid it remarkably well, cheerfully ramming his fez onto Soos’ head. Even Dipper could appreciate the absolute joy on the innocent man’s features. 

“I won’t let you down, Mr Pines! The Mystery Shack is in good hands.” Clenching his fist in earnest excitement, Soos saluted his boss and hurried inside (probably to call Melody and gush about his responsibilities for ten minutes straight.) Ford laughed, shrinking luggage down with the improved torch and neatly packing the miniature bags into one hold-all. 

“Why don’t you just adopt him already, Stanley? It’s pretty obvious that you’re his father-figure.” 

Ruffling his silver mop of hair, Stan gave a thoughtful hum. “Don’t know that it’s really necessary, bro. Some official document doesn’t really define a relationship between two people, ya know?”

“Not what you said when you were planning to propose to McCorkle.”

“Ok, firstly, shut the fuck up, that was a long time ago. Secondly, don’t make me swear in front of the kids.”

Dipper, who had been leaning indifferently against the RV for half an hour, scoffed. “Hardly a kid anymore, Grunkle Stan. Sixteen in like, a month, remember?”

“You’ll always be a kid in my eyes. Plus, 16 is hardly  _ adult _ . Nah, you can call yourself an adult when ya stop mooching off your parents for money.”

“So, never.”

“Precisely.”

Rolling his eyes, Dipper slouched vigorously on the chilled metal of the van, eyes trailing the shadow of his sister in the attic window. From her frantic movements, he guessed that Mabel was attempting to pack every remotely alluring outfit within her (frankly concerningly) massive wardrobe. Which now, he noticed, may even include some of his flannels - sure enough, she promptly appeared at the front door looking more like a glittery Wendy than his sister.

“Who’s ready for a  _ Super Fun Exclusive Double Twin Road Trip _ _ ™ _ _? _ ” Mabel veritably  _ threw  _ her seven overstuffed bags at Grunkle Ford, who seemed torn between wondering how she’d managed to  _ say  _ the trademark symbol and how she’d found a potential use for so many possessions. 

“Mabel honey, we’re going away for a night. One. How could you possibly need… three evening gowns?”

“Preparation is key! Who knows, maybe we’ll stumble upon a wealthy family who just so happen to be holding a glamourous party and think I would be a perfect match for their illustrious offspring!” Receiving three sets of disbelieving looks, she huffed and crossed her arms petulantly. “Oh, shrink them down already.”

Generally happy to oblige, Stanford merely shrugged and shone the torch on Mabel’s luggage, placing them in the hold-all and zipping it up with a satisfying yank of the hand. He boarded the RV, shouting for the rest of the family to ‘come on in, get going.’ Stanley was barely concealing a grin as he clambered in, always elated at the chance to spend some time with his brother. 

“Dipper? We’re leaving.”

Mabel stood in front of her own sibling, twisting the hem of her shirt uncertainly. Dipper lazily lifted his gaze to meet hers. “I know.”

Laughing faintly, agonisingly, she glanced over her shoulder - his eyes barely focused on her own, ofttimes apparently aimed at something in the distance... Distant. That was how Mabel would describe her brother. “Are you… are you gonna get in the RV, then?”

“Yeah, yeah, hang on.” 

The faint glow of Bill, hovering somewhere in the distance, finally disappeared and Dipper gave a lonesome sigh, grumpily rolling over onto his side and standing fully upright. Apparently this was enough to soothe Mabel a touch, and the pair boarded the vehicle together. 

Up at the front sat the elder twins, fiddling about with the radio and bickering good-naturedly over the best route to take. Ford had jammed the luggage bag at his feet, having gotten distracted by the map before thinking to put it somewhere sensible, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by Stan. “Hey, Sixer, if that thing gets in the way of the pedals and we all die, I’m blaming you.”

“That’s highly improbable, Stanley. Whatever - Mabel, catch.” 

The hold-all went sailing through the air and straight into Dipper’s outstretched arms, eliciting a disappointed huff from his sister as it was swiftly housed in a high compartment. Pulling a book out from his personal backpack (and checking to see if he’d left anything incriminating in there - he hadn’t) the teen sat at the yellowing table and began to read.

“Ugh,  _ reading _ , bro-bro? This is supposed to be a fun trip, you know.” Mabel shrugged one shoulder and found her knitting, sniffing at the dusty scent of the curtains and settling in. With a gentle sputter of sound, the RV came to life, pulling out of the Mystery Shack’s open lot and onto the open road. Overhanging pines scratched at the windows and provided a quiet soundscape to the low murmur of discussion between the Stans.

_ ‘Well, this is dull.’  _ Dipper opined flippantly. He’d read the same page five times and still couldn’t take it in, words slipping from his mind the second he moved on a line.

_ ‘Bad book, eh, Pines?’  _ Bill sounded oddly distant amidst the rumbles and groans of the vehicle.

_ ‘You could say that.’  _ Slamming the novel shut, he set it down on the table and grabbed his notebook, sketching out the trees and houses visible from the window.  _ ‘Some lame ghost story. Obviously never met a ghost. Ugh, and these drawings are nowhere near as good as yours.’ _

_ ‘I’m a demon, kid. Wouldn’t try to compare yourself to me if I were you.’ _

_ ‘Fair point.’  _ Mabel was watching her brother’s movements subconsciously, and he noticed the way that her gaze would frequently slip from the knitting up to his face, as if trying to ascertain something from the way he held himself.  _ ‘I should probably interact a bit.’ _

‘ _ I reckon you should, kid. Have fun!’ _

“Asshole,” Dipper muttered under his breath, listening in on the discussion being held by his family. 

“Lee, I’m pretty sure that we’re barred from every landmark around, nevermind in another state. Or rather,  _ I am, _ thanks to you.”

“Three states, bro. That’s all. And the of course there’s the no-fly list, but honestly, you’re overreacting here.”

“What do you guys think? Any ideas?” Ford perched his head on the top of his seat, six-fingered hand resting on the dashboard and making his brother tut in annoyance. “I think we’ll just argue ourselves in circles otherwise.”

Mabel tapped her knitting needles on the table rhythmically, face twisted in thought. “Maybe we could go to that maize maze again? It’s been a few years since we went on our last vengeance trip, they’ll… probably have forgiven Stan by now. Probably.”

“A maze? Really?” Ford seemed disappointed. Any maze would likely be far too easy for him to garner any entertainment, but when Dipper merely blinked passively and continued to doodle tiny triangles, he had no choice. “Well, if nobody has any better ideas, the maze it is. Assuming it’s still there.”

Shrugging, Stan changed gear. “Corn weevils. They dealt with the infestation eventually.” If he sounded disappointed by that, nobody mentioned it.

***

The reason for Mabel’s choice became apparent when she pulled Dipper along the paths of the maze with a vengeance, leaden tongue failing to communicate all the worries that she was increasingly determined to convey. Ford and Stan had gone together, Ford proposing that they try to break the record completion time, Stan hiding a set of hedge clippers in his jacket. Taking the decision to split up with surprising cheer, Mabel had grabbed her brother’s arm and swiftly marched off into the sea of yellow and green. 

Now they were completely lost, Dipper discreetly using pulses of magic to locate the entrance, trapped within a lengthy silence that neither particularly wanted to break. To do so would be to acknowledge the wall between them; to attempt to surpass it.

He’d been subconsciously building his barrier for the best part of two months. She had been pulling at the bricks too slowly to have much of an impact.

Eventually, Mabel gave in, dragging her foot conscientiously along the dirt path and clearing her throat. “Well, seems like we’re really stuck, huh?” Enthusiasm was straining against her measured tone. “ _ Guess _ we’ll just have to wait and see if Stan and Ford find us. Maybe sit down and have a nice chat…?”

“Hardly,” Dipper’s reply was short. “I’ll find a path in a minute. Lemme get my bearings.”

Running a thumb over an ear of corn, he hummed, allowing spindly arms of magic to worm their way along the beaten tracks, finding the entrance and allowing him to take a look at the maps provided. Deciding to be creative, he pulled a piece of paper out of his notebook and quickly transformed it into a perfect replica. Magic. So cool. 

“See, I thought I’d taken a map,” he waved it around triumphantly, only to find Mabel had already disappeared along a path to the left. Blinking in mild offense, Dipper followed, concerned by the sharp arch of her back. “Uh. Where are you going? The right path is this way.”

Mabel didn’t turn, but she slowed, rubbing one hand stiltedly along the sleeve of her borrowed flannel. “Oh, I know. I actually have a map too.” The corn shifted in the gentle breeze and she curled in on herself, hunched up abnormally, a lonely figure amidst the walls of plant-life. For a moment, Dipper was worried. 

Then she swivelled around with a joyful cry and tackled him into the dirt. “Ha! Got you! Bet you weren’t expecting that!”

The fact that her eyes were reddened and sore went entirely unmentioned by the both of them. 

_ ‘Something’s wrong.’ _

_ ‘Well done, kid, you used basic observation. She’s concerned for you.’ _

_ ‘I know  _ that _ , I’m not totally ignorant.’ _

Following the map back to the start of the maze, Dipper inhaled the scent of the dust and the corn with vigour, determined to enjoy some aspect of the trip. The healthy yellow glow of the crop was almost blindingly bright in the sunlight and reminded him (in a roundabout way) of Bill. Most things reminded Dipper of the demon at this point, but he hardly registered the subconscious connections. It was difficult not to see him everywhere when the Mystery Shack boasted so many effigies.

When they reached the exit, Ford and Stan were already stood there, waiting. “Have fun, kids?” Lacking much subtlety, he glanced back and forth between his great niece and nephew, searching for any change in their demeanour. 

“Oh yeah, it was super fun! Getting lost is weirdly thrilling, ammirite?” Dipper didn’t know his sister’s voice could sound so forced.

“Wouldn’t know. Brainiac here managed to complete the whole thing in like, 3 minutes. We’ve been waiting around for an hour.” Stan’s bitterness also sounded mostly faked, hand occasionally patting at the hedge clippers lying flush against his front. “We’d better get going, anyway. We gotta get to that RV lot we visited last time.”

Boarding the vehicle, Dipper took a moment to survey what damage he had caused, snickering at the large swaths of corn which had been discreetly cut down. They’d never be going here again, that was for sure.

***

It took almost no time to get set up at the RV lot, gathering ridiculous quantities of junk food (‘entirely necessary’ in Stan’s words) and settling around a campfire to combat the falling darkness. Gentle crackling permeated the air as easily as the addictive scent of burning wood, inspiring a hush among the small gathering. Ford seemed to appreciate being a part of the family trip this time; his great niece had recalled the events of three years ago in shocking detail, making Dipper grumble and blush. He’d been a total ass that day, and while Candy had forgiven him fairly quickly it was still painfully embarrassing to remember.

“Well, at least that won’t be happening this time,” the scholarly Grunkle chuckled, laying out a set of perfectly speared s'mores in his palm. “Eh, Dipper?”

“Right.” The teen tried for a sheepish smile, probably grimacing by mistake. He didn’t quite know how to act around his family anymore, in all honestly - they still seemed very distant, like a forgotten chapter of his life. How much of that was due to Bill, Dipper didn’t know. “Can we uh, not talk about that? I’d rather forget it.”

_ ‘Bet you would. Oh Pine Tree, who knew you were such a heartthrob?’ _

Flushing crimson at the comment and blaming it on the heat of the fire, Dipper drew his blanket tighter around his body and focused on thoroughly roasting the marshmallow Ford had handed him. Watching the pink fluff slowly charr into dripping sugar was oddly fascinating. 

“Sorry kiddo, it’s my fault that junk occurred. ‘Sides, weren’t you around then, bro?” Stan was intently overseeing the painting of his nails, Mabel holding a s’more between her teeth as she daubed him with cobalt. “Pretty sure you were back at the Shack being a grump.”

_ ‘When is Sixer anything other than a grump?’ _

_ ‘You’d be surprised.’ _

“Humph. Yes, I was working on something very important, I assure you. We were having a scare with Bill Cipher at the time, you remember?”

_ ‘Still are, Fordsy dear.’ _

_ ‘Bill, please be quiet.’ _

“Oh yeah. Careful, Mabel honey, got a papercut there.” Stan waggled his fingers experimentally and grinned at the perfectly even colour. On occasion, the Grunkles would offer to be their great niece’s model for a makeover, or a new outfit. Dipper could remember running into a bedazzled Ford sometime the week prior. “What happened to that triangular loser anyhow?”

Dipper stilled. Marshmallow fell into the fire.

“Probably still out there somewhere, trying to get into our world. Or maybe he’s moved on. I wouldn’t bet on it - if I know Cipher, then he’s plotting something.”

_ ‘I COULD CRY, PT, THIS IS SO RICH.’  _ The volume of Bill’s announcement made the human wince and knead at his forehead.

_ ‘Please don’t.’ _

“Ah, well. Out of sight, out of mind, right? S’long as he’s not causing us any trouble.” 

Ford hummed, narrowing his eyes at his brother in unspoken disagreement. “So, what should we do… I don’t know, have any of you got any news? Anything to share?” He spoke generally, but his gaze slipped over Dipper tellingly as he spoke, eyes shining with hope. The teen merely saw it as damnably irritating.

“Actually, I do.” Stan’s voice was barely audible over the crackling of the fire. “I figure I should probably tell you guys - it’s been a little while anyways. Yeah, I went on a few dates with Lazy Susan after the fiasco a few years ago, and she’s actually a... lovely woman, when you get to know her. There may be something going on there… so yeah. That’s a thing.”

For Mabel, this was like every holiday rolled into one, eyes widening to saucers.

“No. Way! That’s so cute! Ohmigod. What if you get  _ marriiiieeeddd! _ I could be a bridesmaid! Assuming you’re even going to - but if you are, I have so many proposal ideas. So many. What kind of ring would you want? Where would you get married? Outside the diner? We could have the reception with her food! Would she want to cook though? Oh, I hope so, the pancakes there are really -”

“Whoa, whoa, chill out, kid. It’s a few dates. Nothing serious, you know what I’m like about commitment.” To Dipper’s amusement, his Grunkle had reddened slightly, face blotchy with a rare blush. “Thanks for the support.”

“Of course!” The girl then turned to Ford, obviously hoping for some similar story of romance. This was misguided - the only person to show any interest in Stanford since his return was McGucket, and their relationship was little more than a slow but sure rebuilding of trust. “So… what’s going on with  _ you _ ?”

Sensing a less interesting turn in the conversation, Dipper burrowed further into his blanket and barely listened to Ford’s lengthy description of his current work - summoning circles, or something, likely entirely irrelevant to anybody who wasn’t his Grunkle. It confused the teen as to why he didn’t just patent all of his inventions and make a mint from it; Stan would definitely be on board with that. Although, what with the years of name theft and fraud, it made sense that both Grunkles would be loath to approach the government. 

“... localise it and…”

‘ _ Is any of this accurate?’  _ Dipper didn’t quite trust his Grunkle’s inventions since one of his computers had accidentally frozen the entire north side of the town.

_ ‘Yeah, actually. Sixer gets things right sometimes, yanno.’ _

“... to a creature’s magical signature…”

_ ‘What are you doing? I’m bored.’  _

Bill poked at the mental link experimentally.  _ ‘Testing out this body. Seems to be perfectly functional, and as malleable as my immaterial one. Good job on it, PT.” _

_ ‘Oh. Thanks. Only did what you told me to.’  _ Even so, a pit of warmth grew in the teen’s stomach, and he smiled into his arm.

“... and that’s about it. Other than that, nothing much going on.”

Neither Mabel nor Stan moved, sharing the same glassy expression. “Wow!” The girl’s piping voice was even higher than normal. “I understood absolutely nothing of what you just said!”

Ford laughed. “Don’t worry about it. ‘Nerd stuff’, I know. Anyway, I’ve done my bit, what about you, boy?”

“Uh.” Three sets of expectant gazes were suddenly leveled at Dipper, making his brain stall with any good excuses or explanations. “I’ve been… good. Yep.”

“Any bad days recently?”

“Nope.” Popping the ‘p’ excessively, he had to physically school his expression into something other than amusement at the hurt look his Grunkles shared. Did they dislike the idea that he could be happy without them? That was a level of selfishness he could expect from Ford. Stan, less so. “Except for this morning, though I guess it wore off. The forest must be doing me good, huh?”

“Uh… yeah.” Stanley gulped but managed a smile. “Not isolating yourself though, right? I mean, what are ya doin’ out there?”

“Nothing special. Just research. Checking out stuff from the Journals - you know, general adventure things.” Dipper could almost hear the lack of inflection in his voice and heaved a discreet sigh. 

Looking up into the inky night, Mabel nibbled at her lip. “Well, Wendy’s been asking after you, you know. She’s been over a few times, says she misses the place, in spite of the poor pay. Goes off to college soon.” Her voice softened. “She misses  _ you _ .”

_ ‘Poor ol’ Red. Least she’ll like college more than high school.’ _

_ ‘It literally could not be worse.’ _

“Yeah, I dunno… I’ll have to get in touch with her soon. At least I’m not stuck with that dorky crush anymore, heh.” 

It was entirely true. While her shimmering wave of crimson hair would always make his heart leap slightly, it was no longer a long-term issue for the teen. However, to Dipper’s dismay, his mind now immediately jumped to Bill - that is, to imagining the texture of his new form in almost shameful detail. Chalky sandstone front, the undying wicked glint in the demon’s eye, the new bowtie that he wanted nothing more than to stroke and see how it felt… a blush had risen to Dipper’s cheeks before he could muster the presence of mind to stop it. Why did he have to like the goddamn triangle, of all things? Mabel noticed his change in demeanour immediately, and her hand flew to her mouth.

“He met somebody.” It wasn’t even a question. “Oh my god. That explains so much!”

“I - well,” Dipper floundered, only serving to stick his foot in it even further. “I suppose so.”

This was  _ really not ideal _ , given that he now had to produce some fake crush, without messing up his false backstory. While he’d become a rather proficient liar, it was always easier to tell the truth, as there were fewer repercussions and a far smaller chance that he might contradict himself.

“Oh! Congratulations, Dipper. What are they like?” Ford pulled at his red sweater jovially, intrigued. 

“He’s eccentric. He likes the forest, so I meet up with him there a lot, and we go on trips together.” Good so far. Nonspecific, and honest enough that Dipper could reasonably repeat his story again if need be. “We have fun.”

_ ‘Heh. That’s what she said.’ _

_ ‘Jesus, Bill, please don’t start that. I’m trying to cover my ass here.’ _

_ ‘Oh, Pine Tree, why would you want to do that ~’ _

Electing to ignore that grating voice echoing in his head, he took another s’more and nibbled at it bashfully, aware of the scrutinising stare of his sister and the satisfied responses of his great uncles. By now, there was a surprisingly strong nip of chill to the air and he drew closer to the fire, aware of the golden heat lighting up his features. Instinctually, Dipper was unnerved by the blast of energy that seemed to sear into his very bones; the need for comfort only marginally defeated his natural fears.

“What’s he called?” Mabel no longer sounded so excited as before. “How old is he?” 

“He’s called B...radley. He’s uh, 16. Yeah, and he’s actually leaving pretty soon, he’s not a local.”

“Well…” she gave one final, long look, before clapping her hands together and grinning widely. “You’ve gotta introduce us sometime! Is he cute? I bet he’s cute.”

“You could say that,” Dipper mumbled, wincing at the veritable shrieking that Bill was subjecting him to. He really hoped that the demon wouldn’t try to bring the subject up and force the teen to admit to his feelings. These bizarre, extremely new feelings. “I don’t know if he’ll be up to meeting, he’s very shy.”

_ ‘This is the best thing since sliced bread, Pine Tree. Go on, why am I cute?’ _

_ ‘Don’t you go all Tad on me. And shut the fuck up. Can you stop butting in constantly?’ _

_ ‘You already know the answer to that, kid.’ _

_ ‘Why do I talk to you, again?’ _

_ ‘The magic of friendship! You know you love me.’ _

Washing his mouth out with the taste of caramelised sugar, Dipper gave an amused huff, brushing the soft material of his outer wrappings against the backs of his palms. Sated, his family had begun to natter among themselves, laughing and joking about an event that he hadn’t been a part of. In fact, he barely recognised a majority of what they were discussing - overinflated cakes, trips into town, early morning treks to diners and late night film marathons. What bothered him was that it… didn’t bother him. A conflicting sense of confusion and apathy ran rampant in his skull. 

Dipper knew that he should have been sad, seeing the rift between himself and the people he was supposed to love most. It wasn’t necessarily Gravity Falls that he looked forward to seeing every summer; yet there was no loss or grief to hide.

Surely, Bill had done something. This was abnormal. 

_ ‘It’s called ‘growing up’, kid. Slowly watching your friends and family leave you, that’s all that’s waiting in the future. But I ain’t going anywhere.’ _

_ ‘I don’t need reassuring.’  _ Grunkle Stan wandered back into the RV with the intention of setting up the beds.  _ ‘I’m not upset about it, and that’s what’s weird. I really ought to be. I miss my great uncles more than anything when I go home.’ _

_ ‘There was the thing with Sixer planning to perform surgery on you, without your permission. Probably put you off a bit. Like, c’mon, even I am above that, and I think disembodied heads are funny!’ _

Definitely worrying, to have a certified sociopath question the morality of a person’s actions. With one quick announcement, Stanley beckoned the trio inside, Dipper discreetly watching Mabel’s movements as she tried to do the same to him. Her prolonged gaze over the campfire was reminiscent of his therapist, altogether too scrutinising and doubtful for his liking. It appeared that her initial excitement at the prospect of her brother gaining a boyfriend had worn off, and was once again replaced by the increasingly common preoccupation with her twin’s actions.

“You really will have to introduce me to this ‘Bradley’,” she whispered from her bed that night, quiet grin barely visible in the black. It was a challenge, Dipper realised - Mabel really wasn’t a force to be messed with, or a person to be fooled.

He countered it easily. “Ah, if he’s still in town, I’ll make sure to. Shame my phone service is so bad around these parts, we could have called him. You’ll definitely see him sometime.”

“Excellent. Goodnight, bro-bro.” Clutching at pastel pink sheets, Mabel rolled onto her side, leaving her brother to stare at the back of her head. This was what he got for underestimating his family, obviously. A hell of a lot of trouble, and an altogether too perceptive twin.

_ ‘Bill, I have a request.’ _

_ ‘What’s eatin’ ya, Pine Tree?’  _ Bill’s jokey tone was a gift after the relatively charged conversations that the teen had been subjected to.

‘ _ Calm Mabel down, would you?’  _

_ ‘Whoa, whoa, what? Explain, PT.’  _ When Bill sounded discomfited, Dipper knew that he was behaving abnormally. Increasingly, he ignored this warning sign. Trying to lie and sound believable to his family was exhausting, and if he had to resort to manipulation, then that was just unfortunate.

_ ‘It’s not complicated, Bill. She’s way too paranoid. I know you can’t change much without causing damage, but you could… you know, calm her down. Get her off my case a bit. Chances are that she’s going to pry, and that won’t be pretty.’  _ He considered her hair in the faint moonlight.  _ ‘Bradley can hardly make an appearance.’ _

_ ‘Fuck. Well. Okay, PT. I can… I can do that, sure.’ _

_ ‘Thank you, Bill.’  _ Casting one final, charged glance at his twin, Dipper rolled over and allowed his eyes to slip shut, wishing the demon a brief goodnight before falling into an untroubled sleep.

***

Somewhere deep in the forests of Gravity Falls, Oregon, Bill Cipher was laughing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who else is dead because of that finale? 
> 
> I’ve started doing some digital art (years after buying a graphics tablet, great going), including Gold stuff. If you’re at all interested, it’s all here: http://baepper.tumblr.com/tagged/fpr-draws-shit. Not only that, but we’re only a chapter away from the beginning of Serious Business and I’m really looking forward to it… Huge thanks to everybody who has left a comment or kudos!
> 
> SONG: Alien by The Cary Brothers


	13. Triangles Are My Favourite Shape

Working seemed so horrifically dull nowadays, Dipper noticed, and he was more than desperate to shrug off his Mystery Shack shirt and get out into the world.

When he’d first been told to man the till he’d been little more than a shivering wreck of knotted nerves, counting money with abnormal care and at a snail’s pace; while it had seemed cruel at the time, he now understood the frustration of the patrons who’d been forced to deal with his beginner’s incompetence.  

Scanning the seventeenth piece of useless tat that had been bought that morning, he felt the stormy beginnings of a headache forming at the back of his head. As ever, the purchase was being made for reasons entirely unknown - who needed a ‘Mr Mystery’ bobblehead anyway? Where was one meant to  _ put _ it? It could’ve been Dipper’s cynical mind, but he figured that it was hardly going to be a treasured family heirloom, or proudly displayed on a car dashboard.

“Two dollars fifty-six change, ma’am. And here’s your receipt.”

Watching the clueless customer cheerfully pack away her new trinket, the teen tried not to grow too frustrated, flipping the ‘Beware of Dog’ sign around. The opposite side now read ‘Bark Worse than Bite’ (Bill’s suggestion) and a few stifled titters broke out from the small collection of people perusing the shop shelves.

_ ‘Good god, I’m bored.’ _

_ ‘Still calling me god, eh? Although I’m definitely not good, but I’ll let that pass.’ _

_ ‘Loser.’  _ Dipper watched the second to last person in the gift shop exit empty-handed.  _ ‘This blows. I’d forgotten how boring work was, honestly.’ _

_ ‘Considering you skip on out before Fez can collar ya, I’d imagine so.’  _ Bill’s voice had taken on a sly edge.  _ ‘Although, that’s not to say you can’t skip out later on, too.’ _

Quickly stepping from behind the till to right a few fallen miniatures, Dipper bid goodbye to the final customer; the shop was deserted. His eye strayed to the high security camera and he nibbled on his lip distractedly.  _ ‘Leave work before I’m set to finish? Stan would go ballistic.’  _ Temptation was already running like soft fingers down his spine, nudging the teen to casually exit the room and run up the stairs. 

_ ‘What can the old geezer do to ya? Nothing you couldn't give back twice as hard.’ _

_ ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this. They’re gonna be so mad.’  _ Yanking his shirt off in one fluid pull, Dipper waved one distracted hand, mental command prompting his casual clothing to fly onto his outstretched arm.  _ ‘Red or blue?’  _

_ ‘Red. Gotta love red, makes humans look like they’re wearing their insides on their outsides!’  _

_ ‘You would think that.’  _ Despite the faint shiver of disgust that accompanied Bill’s words, the teen discarded his blue shirt and pulled on the red, throwing shoes onto his feet (the wrong way around, at first) and his cap onto his head.  _ ‘Heh. If I’d kept that old puff vest I could almost have my old look going.’ _

_ ‘Trust me kid, it’s a positive that you don’t have that ratty thing. Now come on, we’re gonna have some fun today. Day trip of our own.’ _

Clambering expertly out of the window, Dipper took moment to locate the security camera downstairs and attempt to wipe it, murmuring  _ ‘oblitus’  _ passionately. Whether it had worked or not was an unknown until he returned - and goodness only knew when that would be. He just had to hope that he didn’t stumble upon Stan’s tour group. In any case, his disappearance would be noticed eventually. 

Choosing not to focus on that, Dipper swung around and descended carefully, dropping down into the billowing dust with practiced ease.

_ ‘Where we meeting?’ _

_ ‘Go straight to the temple, the tour group is getting close to the eyes.’ _

_ ‘Gotcha.’ _

Swerving away from the main path, Dipper noted the sound of Ford working on an invention to one side of the shack, breathing in a rattling, nervous gasp as the loud welding appeared to grow closer. To get caught would be… a bad idea. Sure, he was hardly going to get found out again, but he still didn’t want to be subjected to his great uncle’s ire. That was a problem for evening Dipper to deal with.

He crashed through the undergrowth for half an hour. Birds beat into the air with startled wings, creatures scurried from his destructive path, mythical beasts and beauties alike shrunk into the shadows; the teen barely registered the sudden decrease in life around him. His mind was firmly set upon ignoring his transgression and considering what he might be doing with Bill, magical aura pulsing abnormally powerfully. It was this that was disturbing the world so heavily - the forests around Gravity Falls had learned all too well what Bill Cipher’s magic meant, and the foul darkness that accompanied it.

Dipper was nearing the temple now. Chutzpar was visible in the distance, testing his strength with boulders, and figuring that the demon wouldn’t mind a slight delay, the teen made a quick beeline towards the manotaur. He was oddly pleased to see a familiar face amidst the unyielding trees. “Hey there, man! How you doing?” He still only barely reached the manotaur’s chin, grinning slightly. His own enthusiasm was not mirrored by his friend, and the manotaur reared back, stumpy hands clenching subconsciously.

“Chutzpar is… fine.”

Faintly hurt by his apprehension, Dipper frowned. “Yeah, you really look it. Something up?”

Scratching at a furry arm, the oversized monster gave a small shrug. “You’ve changed a lot. Less scrawny. Much more powerful.” He gulped, and muttered under his breath. “Definitely that.”

“Yeah, bet I could take on the Multibear now. Kinda foolish of me to try at 12, huh?”

“You were only a cub…” Laughing in a broken rumble, the manotaur stumbled further back, wincing at the intensity of the magic coalescing around the human. Did Dipper even know he was doing it, pooling power so violently and effortlessly? The creature did not think so - the small human appeared entirely calm, comfortable even. How could he not feel the disgusting slime that was the  _ demon’s _ magic? Even Chutzpar wanted to take a bath after suffering the caking sensation of it close to his skin, and manotaurs  _ did not wash _ . Period.

Then Dipper began to wreathe demonic fire around his fingers and what had been mere nerves became genuine terror.

“That’s - I - I need to go -”

“What, are you  _ afraid _ of me?” Only a faint tremor betrayed the conflict within the teen, the lingering pain of losing equilibrium. “Why? The magic?”

Then Bill finally appeared, tired of waiting, and Chutzpar made for the hills.

“Whoa, who was that guy? Didn’t know your friends were furries.” The demon watched the hasty exit with some amusement, bobbing up and down at Dipper’s shoulder. 

“They aren’t furries! They’re some breed of minotaur -- as you bloody well know, quit being a tease.” Shoving Bill roughly, Dipper marveled at the feeling of warm brick beneath his fingers, offering shaky breaths. “I guess he’s not really my friend either. So much for being tough.”

Catching his poorly cloaked disappointment, Bill clapped a hand to Dipper’s shoulder and produced an old instant camera in his free palm, extending his arm out in a bizarre makeshift ‘selfie stick’. “C’mon Pine Tree, cheer up. Smile for the picture!” It took a moment but the teen eventually chuckled, wan curve of his lips betraying his sly approval. The camera shrieked loudly once, dispensing a polaroid image a second later.

Dipper caught it before it could flutter to the ground, holding it by one of the free edges and shaking enthusiastically. A bright image slowly formed - his awkward, gangly self smiling softly and Bill grinning with that telltale squint to his eye, cornea vibrant in the dappled light of the forest. Bill’s arm rested easily over Dipper’s shoulders, surprisingly comforting. 

“ **Picture perfect** ! And you don’t look half bad either, kid.” Cackling, Bill confiscated the photo, multiplying it and carelessly throwing one into the teen’s outstretched palms. “Treasure it. If your fam look, then they’ll see something else - I dunno, you on your own, maybe even that ‘Bradley’ that you spoke  _ so highly _ of.”

Blinking down at the image, Dipper didn’t notice the demon casually tucking the original between the cracks of his bricks. “You ripped off psychic paper from Dr Who, didn’t you?”

“You’re American, how did - I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Bill immediately began to float off down a random path, prompting a quiet shout as Dipper tried to put the polaroid in his pocket without damaging it. “Ready for a bit of fun, kid?”

“Definitely.” Adjusting his cap, the human sprinted up to the demon. “Any ideas you’re willing to tell me?”

“Oh, it’s no secret this time, PT. We’re gonna use that magic in a more  _ interesting _ way, ya dig? Give the SHAMBLING SUPERNATURAL MONSTERS something to really worry about.”

Before Dipper could voice his agreement he was already being yanked up into the air by two sturdy black palms, wrapping around his torso and lifting him bodily up from the forest floor. He yelped, legs wheeling in panic, until his mind assured him that  _ this is Bill, he’s not going to do you any harm _ and the gradual ascent into the skies became far more enjoyable.

Perched at treetop height, the human felt his shirt ride up slightly from the hands holding him in place. “Uh, is there any way that I could do this whole flying or floating thing on my own? Only my arms are starting to hurt.”

“Tch, probably, PT. But where’s the fun in that, when I can make you squirm?”

“Bastard.” To Dipper’s surprise, however, the two arms clutching his midsection disappeared, dropping him onto a floating armchair. From above the canopy the entirety of Gravity Falls and its surrounding habitats were visible, glowing leafy greens spreading below them for miles around. “Whoa. You never told me your real world powers extended to magical furniture, Bill.”

“I’m still testing it out. I mean, you can definitely have baby heads for eyes if you’d prefer - no? Then don’t question it, honeysuckle.”

“Honeysuckle.”

“I’m being passive aggressive, kid. Ain’t it a sight?”

Leaning back into the comfortable cushions, Dipper had to agree that it was incredibly impressive to see the world laid out before him like a map. Hills rose up from the flat expanse of lime and olive speckles, marring a perfect cerulean summer sky. The sun flared brilliantly from directly above. And yet…

“A sight you’d rather not see.” The words tumbled out without pause. “You’d rather watch this burn, right?”

The triangle did not respond. Instead he floated down to sit beside the teen, kicking tiny black feet into the warm summer air. His expressive eyelashes shone in the light. “Suppose I do, kiddo. Would you mind? This is your world, after all.”

Blinking into the distance, Dipper shook his head. “Nah, not really. Got the idea that your plans weren’t going to be altruistic right from the start. I’m honestly kind of surprised that I’m still alive.” This was accompanied by an awkward laugh, and Bill flashed bright white for a second, immediately pretending that nothing had happened.

“Hah, well, we can take today out.” His hasty response was swallowed by the midday haze.

“Sure.” Dipper’s gaze lingered ever so slightly on the pair of black hands clasped loosely at the demon’s front before he directed his attention outward. “Good job on Mabel, by the way. She seems a lot happier than before, outwardly at least. Past few days have been amazing.”

“Glad I could be of service. You really care about that dumb sibling of yours a lot, huh?”

“Of... course.” A singular grey cloud began to blot the sun, battling with it for ultimate control of the skies. Dappled darkness momentarily covered the land, sweeping a surprisingly powerful chill through the human; while he shivered and curled inwards, the action was entirely thoughtless. “Bill? What’s up? Not jealous are we?” Teasing tone aside, there was an edge to his words that the demon definitely noticed.

“Me, jealous of Shooting Star? Don’t get ahead of yourself PT, just ‘cause I like ya doesn’t mean I can go so far as  _ jealousy _ . Pretty sure you need a heart for that.” He tittered. “Speaking of hearts, while we’re up here, wanna hear the story of my summer romance with  _ dear ol’ Sixer? _ ”

Wary of the potential damage to his own romantic leanings, the teen nodded gently, plucking fibres from the hovering seat. He stretched out along its length, watching the triangle float up and settle warmly on his stomach, single eye blinking up into his face. Two legs lay flat out along his stomach, waggling gaily under Dipper’s chin. “OK Bill. Let’s see how much my Grunkle omitted.”

“Right you are, kid! It was a blazing summer’s day, as shamefully non-destructive as this one…”

***

“It was a blazing summer’s day, as shamefully non-destructive as this one. Dear Sixer was in something of a bind - when ain’t he - and he decided that reading out a summoning spell with HILARIOUSLY inaccurate descriptions was a really  _ top notch idea. _ I’d tell you not to be so dumb PT, but it’s kinda too late for that. No, you shut it. Right,  _ well _ , I thought it’d be a bit of a laugh to humour this gullible fucker and pull him into the Mindscape.

Guy had the ego of a freakin’ angel. Can’t go into that right now, kid, but trust me, they’re  _ bastards. _ Think the world of themselves. Challenged him to chess, said I was a ‘muse’ or something, and he was immediately eating out of the palm of my hand. I’m still disappointed that I never convinced the guy to go further… anyway, off topic. I slowly ease Sixer into my plans, convincing him that this portal will be the ‘greatest invention yet’, revolutionise the world, blah blah. Fucking idiot  _ buys it,  _ gets a new guy in on his plan, and lo and behold, this ‘Fiddlesticks’ doesn’t trust me.

Oh yeah. Way wiser than Stanford, he actually saw my plan for what it was. Not completely, of course. At least he  _ doubted me _ for a moment.

After making a few… neat deals with your great uncle, I’d basically got free reign over his body. Most of the tapestries and shit around the shack were put there by me. Oh c’mon, don’t look at me like that, I don’t pretend to be anything less than a narcissist, kid. You get used to a level of deference when you had a cult in the past, y’know? Fordsy was more than happy to oblige and I loved it. Everything was great.

Then things started to get interesting. I’d kind of sussed that Fidder’s feelings towards Sixer weren’t just pally, but he was  _ so blatantly jealous _ , and the moron had  _ no clue. _ I could string him along and get him to practically worship my step and it was SO WORTH IT to see the look on that hillbilly’s face! Plus, Stanford himself was starting to genuinely adore me - I’ll not show you his dreams, you might be scarred.

I admit, I did kinda indulge him. Waffled on about how muses and their humans often ended up being the basis for great romances, which, hah, probably didn’t help.

Why yes, I am an asshole. You’re the one that’s laughing, Pine Tree.

I’ll also spare you the story of Fiddy’s impassioned outburst. Wait, you sure? It’s pretty  _ embarrassing _ , even from my perspective! Oh, alright then. Basically, he stormed into the lab, announced that he was painfully in love with Sixer, and then attempted to grab his hands as some kinda romantic gesture? It backfired hugely, it was SO FUNNY, IQ dropped his hands like they burned and asked the sap to leave! Didn’t return his calls for  _ weeks. _ Never seen a guy cry every night for a week! I had so much fun with the moron. Completely isolated, emotionally vulnerable, desperate for affection - he was wrapped so tight around my finger I almost needed it AMPUTATED!

Eventually he got over it and shoved good ol’ Fidders straight into the portal. Shoulda seen that coming, honestly, he was  _ livid _ about the whole thing. Burst into the Mindscape and started shouting, sobbing, the works, jabbering on about how I’d ‘betrayed his trust’ and ‘abused his love’ or whatever. So - and maybe this was a bit cruel - I turned round to my pals on the other side and told them that ‘this is the idiot that was foolish enough to fall in  _ love _ with me!’ 

Fordsy doesn’t half  _ overreact  _ with his crying.

I don’t know that there’s much else, unless ya want the gritty details. Ha, didn’t think so. Trust me, there are  _ plenty _ . Not all of it was gross, though. Used to sit in the Mindscape for hours while he hypothesised excitedly, waved his arms around. All totally wrong, as per, but yeah. That’s it.”

***

Simply soaking in the sunlight, Bill could almost appreciate the calm. Almost. Dipper had fallen into a light doze once his story was finished, dreaming of disgustingly cute things. It made the demon want to retch. If he could be bothered. For now though, he lay himself out on the teen’s front and focused on maintaining their position above the treetops. 

Their proposed ‘day trip’ had become a whole lot less productive than Bill had hoped, deteriorating into an extended relaxation period. Maybe the kid deserved it - he’d been pushed pretty hard recently, and considering… it was a necessary evil. Good. Whatever.

Plus, despite all evidence to the contrary, the demon could actually appreciate nice things.

Testing out his powers could wait until tomorrow, he supposed. Or the day after. Truthfully, summer was genuinely nearing its close - Pine Tree would be leaving in a few weeks, and then he’d have to wait a whole year to get everything going. That was absolutely out of the question.

For all dream demons were powerful, fate would always maintain a far stronger pull and presence. Bill was nothing but a puppet in the hands of prophecy, a fact that he disliked but could readily admit to. Everything was, so the only shame in it was the stabs that it made at his vitriolic pride. At least PT was equally as strung up in everything. It was possible that he was even more wrapped in the cruel tangles of time than the demon was, destiny dragging its dull knife achingly along his mortal throat. 

They could take a day out of the madness to recuperate, ensure that the kid didn’t become sour or unhappy. Tomorrow, Bill decided, he would move things along a bit. 

His eye crinkled with desire at that. This was all very nice, but it was so much more of a  _ Pine Tree _ thing than a  _ Bill Cipher _ thing. Where had all of the fun murders gone, the decapitated mothers or meaningless sigils carved into walls? The vengeful lovers, power-crazy satanists, foolish teenagers? He’d devoted so much time in this  _ one damn human _ . He deserved to get a bit of recompense.

Bill was finalising his plans when Dipper finally roused himself, wincing at the blinding sunlight that beamed directly into his eyes, colouring them golden in the unnatural glow. Realising that the unfamiliar weight and heat on his chest was the demon, he chuckled headily and allowed himself to fall back for a moment.

“Has nobody noticed the floating armchair yet?” Voice pleasantly groggily, he struggled to right himself without falling to the forest floor below.

“Humans don’t notice shit. How’d you think Gravity Falls has been left untouched? Well, until Fordsy stuck his six-fingered hand in it.” Bill offered a helping hand. “We’re fine.”

Taking the hand, Dipper maintained his grip until the demon had lowered the both of them carefully to the cool ground below, bravely twisting his palm around to hold Bill’s hand more comfortably. Taken aback by the forwardness of the gesture, Bill didn’t argue but allowed his fingers to settle comfortably between the human’s and share his unnatural warmth. 

Setting off through the trees, the pair walked together along the winding forest paths indiscriminately and in complete silence. On occasion an eye would wink out from among the blank trunks of apathetic trees. Bill set a few alight, always dousing the fire the moment it started to spread too far, mindlessly crushing fairy rings. In his defence, “it's not like they're gonna know. That's the fun with migratory creatures!” At one point they stopped before a great pine, carving runes experimentally into the surface.

“Do these even mean anything?” 

“Nah, not really.” Bill yanked the kid away, blabbering about something unrelated and entirely nonsensical. Laughter echoed through the undergrowth. 

If Dipper had thought to look back, he would have witnessed the entirety of his future unfold before his very eyes.

***

“Alright  _ kiddo _ , you better have a  _ damn good  _ explanation for this.”

Dipper had to admit that the whole ‘leaving things for his evening self’ plan hadn’t been the best idea he’d ever had. Now that he  _ was _ evening Dipper, the experience of Stan lifting him bodily once he’d gotten through the front door, only to be dropped onto a waiting kitchen chair, wasn’t very enjoyable at all. Grunkle Stan was  _ pissed _ . 

“You’re already on a reduced timetable, working less than half the hours of your sister. Yet, for some reason, you feel that your bony ass can’t cope with a simple day shift? I’m disappointed in you, Owen.” Yikes, real names? Stanley must have been  _ mad _ \- or even just upset. It seemed to be a mixture of both, consternated lines running along his weathered face, mouth pulled into a determined version of his permanent frown. “I thought you were better than that, kid.”

“I hope you understand how much of a problem you caused for everyone, boy, because you’re going to be working off the money we lost.” Stanford was washing out mugs in the sink, reddened hands chapped and tired. “I’d also quite like to know what happened to the security camera. It’s completely ruined, and I can’t begin to fathom how.”

“I’ve no idea, I haven’t touched it. And I’m sorry, I really am, I’ll… make it up to you.”

“You're going to make back every damn cent. This is me being  _ kind. _ Consider yourself lucky I ain't making you work with my brother on his inventions. And you can't imagine how upset your sister was…”

Dipper couldn’t miss the slightly mournful look that Grunkle Stan trained on his back as he walked away after significant questioning, promising to be in work for the next three days to make up for it. Admittedly it was only to save face, as the teen hardly regretted his decision, for all his family may gripe and moan. What would have been an ocean of guilt last year had trickled away into an insignificant puddle.

That night, as he lay in bed, he realised that Mabel wasn’t sleeping; her breaths were sharper than normal.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, bro-bro,” she whispered with unnecessary care. “Why did you skip out today? I think the Stan and Ford kind of got caught up in the worst case scenario.”

Struck by sudden inspiration, the teen gave a conspiratorial hum. “Honest answer, I was meeting up with Bradley one last time. He’s leaving tomorrow and we wanted to say goodbye properly… who knows when we could meet up again?” 

Sympathy won. Immediately his sister began to suggest various ways to win over the Grunkles again, or to cut down on his suddenly busy schedule, voice increasing in volume as the ideas pouring forth became increasingly impassioned and entirely impossible in nature. Dipper listened with a barely focused ear, humming in occasional agreement to keep Mabel nattering into the air.

_ ‘We meet at eleven tomorrow night, at the temple. Bring dark clothing. Dark clothing, and an open mind, kid. You’re going to need it.’ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WM HHLXIIW KMI FXBWP'L UZQ - PX CJEUM IPCM JZGIYIJ WVTNA VAY JEBI
> 
> General trigger warning for next chapter. The prologue has had an edit - nothing huge, but it ought to be more accurate now. Gold underwent some huge permutations since I first set out that opening! Thank you all for the continued support and commentary! 
> 
> SONG: ‘Smile’ by Mikky Ekko


	14. Our Machinations

On the first night, Bill explained an abridged version of his plan to Dipper. He left the teenager to gawp in his mute horror.

On the second night, Dipper refused. The following argument almost came to an exchange of blows - but Bill restrained himself, and chose the passive option. No point in damaging friendships when it wasn’t a necessary move.

On the third night, Dipper finally acquiesced. To the demon, it was hilarious. Where had the kid gotten this illusion of  _ choice  _ from in the first place? The terror behind his eyes was palpable, but as Bill soothed and praised him, it hardened to a far more  _ interesting _ kind of determination. 

Already worn from work on the fourth day, Dipper was in Ford’s study once again, stealing what he could. His heart wasn’t really in it, mind still caught up in a cloud of memories. He couldn't even chat with Bill to keep himself occupied, as the demon had cut off their mental link in order to ‘focus’. Knowing that Bill was fully capable of completing twenty tasks at once, Dipper couldn’t help the pit of regret that had deepened in his gut.

_ “I can’t do this for you, Bill!” The teen was literally pleading, hands out imploringly. “Please, please don’t make me -” _

_ “I’d shut your damn mouth, kid, before I get really, really fucking angry.” Flickering red, Bill appeared to be growing in size. “Enough of this cutesy  _ shit _ , I had a damn  _ plan _ to follow this summer, and you’re going to help whether you like it or not.” _

_ “Why can’t  _ you _ do it, if it’s so important? Why bother with a body if you’re going to force me to… to-” _

_ “Don’t be fucking stupid, Pine Tree. It doesn’t suit you. You’re going to do it because I want you to, because we have a deal, remember? I didn’t waste my magic on some priss, did I -” _

No longer as afraid now, the teen was faintly embarrassed. While it was obscured under a vale of exhaustion, he could distinctly remember trying to throw a teary punch and getting blasted back against a tree before his hand could even near the triangle’s front. Wracking shots of lacing pain had rocked through his spine and he gasped silently, barely able to see the demon through dew-dripped lashes.

“ _ Why are you acting so SURPRISED? I literally warned you of this THE OTHER DAY!” _

_ “I'm sorry, but I do still have some concept of morality. I'm still a human, Bill! I'm not like you!” He struggled to get to his feet, eyes blinded by hot misery, only to be subjected to a petulant gaze. “I’m not a demon.” _

“ _ Well, you can go home and think on this. You have one day to get over your stupid ‘concept of morality’. I've been way too lax on you, PT, and I think you forgot one major thing.” Flying up close, Bill traced one tender finger along Dipper’s cheek. “You're a selfish, lonely person who kills animals without a second thought. You’ve actively manipulated the minds of your closest family to save your own hide. You’ve lied until the threads are barely visible within the tangle of stories, and you’ve grown to  _ like  _ my magic. Well, haven’t you? Most creatures abhor it.” He swiped away the tears ballooning under the teen’s grieving eyes. “You  _ belong  _ to  _ me _. So don't get all high and mighty on your own sense of ‘goodwill’. That's Sixer’s job.” _

While it had seemed unfair at the time, Dipper now realised that he was in the wrong. The conclusion almost prickled under his skin. Ultimately, he had asked far too much of Bill - any progress had slowed to an almost imperceptible pace - and now he was merely receiving the pent-up frustration that it naturally resulted in. No demon would really want to waste their time on the petty whimsy of a human, never mind a damn  _ teenager _ . 

Guilt washed up in Dipper’s throat, sour and unpleasant. 

Over the months he’d gained more power than any other human on the planet, learned more about other dimensions and magic than Ford (at least, with genuinely accurate information) and gained a new outlook on the world and his place within it. Sure, life was not his oyster; life could be nothing more than a gruelling repetition of conflict and concessions for a Pines. However, he could most definitely reap the rewards of having an alliance with the one being who could potentially grasp every continent in the palm of his stumpy hand.

What  _ right _ did he have to question it? What  _ right _ did he, nothing more than a plaything in a vastly complex universe, have to oppose the powers that be? To deny a friend? 

Nervously listening for the sound of footsteps outside, Dipper replaced the small spinning top that he had pinched a month or so before. Any interest that he had entertained in the potentially fascinating thing had died when the demon had laughed obnoxiously and informed the teen that it was, in fact, just a spinning top. A toy for children. Probably from another dimension, but otherwise unremarkable.

_ “Spinning tops? Days out? I can appreciate your nice little human pleasures, but in case you forgot, I’m not human.” _

Vials! Dipper needed those. A lot. He shoved as many as he could into his pockets, also nabbing a half-full can of spray-paint and shaking it experimentally. To his joy, it clattered cheerfully, a satisfying sound by anybody’s standards, and it took a few seconds of strategic planning to tuck it daringly away under his clothing. 

_ “I got big plans, kid. I don’t need you in my way. I want you on my side.”  _

_ “...” _

_ “You want a nice time? Go pester  _ Bradley. _ Oh, wait -” _

Dipper’s hand lingered over the memory gun but decided against it. Way too dangerous to have on your person, that thing. 

_ “ - he’s not real. Honestly, who do you have left at this point, kid? Your family are still stockpiling low-lying resentment, your parents are just - so oblivious it’s funny - your  _ school friends? _ Max, you mean? And what happened to all of the rest of them?” _

_ After two days followed by very late nights and a painful lump at the back of his head, Dipper was already flagging. “Fuck them. ‘fraid of me.” _

_ “Yep. And over a mental illness! Now  _ they  _ deserve heads that are always screaming, if they struggle with a few SHOCKINGLY DEBILITATING human flaws. Anyway, what was it you were gonna say, PT?” _

Slipping out of the door and into the elevator, Dipper breathed a sigh of relief that had been nestling in his chest for a good half hour. It was unlikely that Ford was going to notice, stuck down in the lab with his thrumming machines; it was hitting 11pm, so Stan was similarly invested in some quirky TV romance. Within minutes he was silently dropping his gains onto his bedspread and storing them underneath the mattress. 

_ “I’ll do it. You know that, you overdramatic isosceles douchecanoe. But… yeah. I’ll do it for you.” His words barely seemed to travel in the still blanket of night. When he looked up, Bill’s eye was closed, almost sleeping. “I don’t like it, but I want to prove myself.” _

He had another half an hour to go before he needed to set off, so Dipper grabbed his magic book and tried to settle his wheeling mind with recognisable words. They leaped up from the page at him, now, no longer shifting as his mind tried to comprehend Bill’s translation. They were friends, and he smiled gently, cradled in their curving font.

***

Dipper didn’t even look to cast a sleep spell over Mabel as he yanked the black hoodie over his arms for the fourth time that week, hitting the ground outside and picking his way into the woods before he could really process what he was about to do. His backpack clattered and tinkled traitorously, making his bones judder and mind grind away beneath his skull. Away from the calm of the Shack, the dust slowly shook out from his sleepy frame and made Dipper painfully alert.

Reaching the flagstones long before he’d hoped to, the teen found that Bill was already waiting for him, sat on the edge of the altar, eye considering the bright heavens above. He seemed overtly bright against the darkened backdrop of pitch midnight.

_ ‘Nice night, PT.’ _

Blinking in surprise, Dipper began to cross the stones and ascend the steps, bag skidding along the floor where he threw it down.  _ ‘You set the mind channel back up?’ _

_ ‘We’re going to need it.’  _ Bill replied simply, and watched the teen rifle through his possessions. “You’re gonna need rope. That’s it for now. Got everything else?”

“Yeah.” A touch breathless from ascending so many stairs so quickly, the teen extracted a significant length of cord and wrapped it into a neat coil, pinching the middle and hiding it on his person. Walking around the altar, he stood nervously before Bill, rubbing at one arm with agitated fingers. The cold was reddening his nose. “So, uh… what now?”

“We wait. I have this all sorted out, PT. Fancy a card game?” A flush deck of cards appeared in one of Bill’s palm, backs bearing an illuminati symbol. Turning them around, Dipper noticed that every single one was a Joker, save for a singular King and Queen. If the Queen looked oddly like Dipper, he didn’t mention it. Especially given that the King seemed to have a pyramid for a head.

“Is now really the time?” 

“Yeesh.” Bill threw the cards behind him, each one exploding into a confetti of ethereal paper. He seemed oddly sincere. “Think about it too much and you’ll go insane, kiddo. Gotta lighten up! C’mon take a seat.”

Unsurprisingly put off by the freezing altar, Dipper took a moment to cast a quick heating spell and sat down, pulling at his hood to cover his raw ears. “I don’t know. I feel like playing cards isn’t really appropriate.”

“Ugh. Lighten up. You’ve gotten all…  _ morally concerned _ lately. Super boring. I miss the ambiguous Pine Tree, this one sucks.”

Sucking on the back of his teeth, Dipper shrugged. “Bit different, this. I can deal with the animals - the forest isn’t gonna miss a few birds or the odd deer. I could get jailed for this if anybody found out. Which terrifies me.” He grew even quieter. “I’m only fifteen.”

“I don’t really get how it is such a huge jump, kid.” Any frustration was carefully minimised. “Just another death, right? It’s exactly the same when you -”

“No, Bill. There’s a huge difference between what we’ve been doing and… and  _ murdering  _ somebody. An insurmountable difference, some might say.” Even so, Dipper merely shrugged one helpless shoulder. “I’ll do it. For you. But you have got to promise me that it’ll be completely untraceable, okay? A mystery for the police to ponder out but eventually give up on.”

The demon gave a sharp bark of laughter. “Well,  _ duh _ , Pine Tree. If you get the chop from the good ol’ government then the plan will never go forward. And I’d lose a pretty chill human.” The last sentence was tactfully stuck on, completely unnoticeable to anyone who wasn’t Dipper Pines, who had more than enough experience with the demon’s quick-witted talk.

“Gee. Thanks. Also, we don’t have beheadings anymore. It’s lethal injection.”

“I know.”

“Oh.” Heart already stamping holes in his chest, Dipper scrutinised his hands. “Why does this spell need human blood anyway? Well, I know it’s more powerful, but like - why?” 

“C’mon kid, it’s basic magic theory.” Bill’s front flickered, displaying aged images of blackboards and a studious teenager writing extensive notes. It was only a few weeks before, but Dipper definitely looked a lot less tired and a whole lot younger, having probably only just started his studies. It made the boy sat on the altar achingly aware of the thin pains that ran up his spine from carrying a bag all the time, and the tiny, healing cuts that littered his arm from slipping with his knife. 

“The magic gained from death is very powerful, I remember that. Also that creatures backlog it.”

“Right ya are. Glad you listened at least a little bit during my lessons. Anyhows, humans are particularly great. They live longer, store a ton more magic, and humans have a far higher ranking of importance in comparison to animals. Autonomy, kid. Big deal.” Turning back to his telltale yellow, the demon waved one arm expressively. “For a spell like the one I’ve got planned, it’s just necessity. Some freaking chaffinch isn’t gonna be enough.”

“Right. Okay, that makes sense.”

“Still don’t want to know what the spell is?” 

“Nope. I’m sure it’d just make me feel worse.”

“Your loss.” Bill’s words were punctuated by a loud  _ DING DONG  _ that made Dipper scream in terror and almost fall down the stairs, watching in mixed anger and fascination as the demon’s slitted eye was replaced by a large clock face. It was half past midnight. One quick blink, and the bizarre watch-face was gone. “Oh, we don’t have much longer to go.”

Hands chilling on the ground, Dipper heaved a sigh. “Can we really not wait a few days more?”

“No.” Staring benevolently at the moon, Bill clasped his hands together. “Believe me when I say this, kid - I want more time to get stuff in order. What’s in control here doesn’t seem to agree.”

“Who  _ is  _ in control, if not you?” Dipper clambered back onto his seat and grimaced as the stone leeched away his body heat. 

“Fate.” Bill paused for effect. “I can’t see everything, of course, but tonight has to happen. You might as well enjoy it.”

“I’m not a total psychopath. I’m not going to ‘enjoy it’, and I don’t think that I want to.”

“Then you’ll go insane with guilt.” The callous monotone made Dipper recoil. “Trust me, you will. You’ll babble the truth out to your family by accident and that’ll be it, Pine Tree. Mental asylums are a hell of a lot of fun for  _ me _ , but not for the inmates.”

A single, hot tear dribbled down Dipper’s cheek, and stained the ground. Bill, for once, didn’t say anything.

Holding out one shaking hand, the teen gulped, and considered his short fingernails, soft fingerprints. The ugly white line of a blood ritual scar marred the palm, and he tried to recall the rush of adrenaline that had seared through his midsection as the drops of red ochre lazily slid along alabaster skin and onto the runes below. He tried to conjure up accurate memories of his previous spells - deftly sinking blades deep into throats, stomachs, burning liquid staining his hands and arms. “ _ Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean _ ,” he muttered, self-pity washing away.

“Romeo and Juliet? Don’t get yourself fooled, kid. You’re more Tybalt than Romeo.”

“What does that make you?” 

“The devil. Maybe Mercutio, gotta love a bit of a wild guy.” Bill seemed relieved for the change in atmosphere. “Trust me though, kid, it’s great once you get into it. The  _ power  _ that you feel is a total high - makes you wanna find somebody else and just -”

The demon’s voice had been gradually speeding up, and he noticed the insane fervour that had been creeping into his voice. Coughing, he turned away slightly. “Worst case scenario, your body takes over for you and you’ll find they’re dead without even thinking about it. Best case? You find that you’ve got a taste for it. That would be  _ fun _ .” 

Dipper said nothing, mind still entrenched in shameful memories.

“It’s pretty much time, kid.” The human looked up and over, staring as Bill floated to the top of the stairs and gestured for him to follow. “You ready?”

Managing a faintly crooked smile, Dipper nodded. “Yeah.”

***

Leaving Dipper halfway through the walk out, the demon had provided careful directions, saying that he needed to be out of sight while the victim was secured. The path led to a rectangle of grit beside the road - a stopping place for troubled drivers - and an extremely unfortunate person. 

Curiously following Bill’s instructions, Dipper silently rested against a tree trunk and peered out at the road beyond, surprised by the scene set out before him.

A scrawny man was muttering blithely into a small device clutched closely in his right hand, inspecting the appearance of the hood of an obviously poor-quality car. In the light of the moon his hair shone with a greasy gleam, face faintly handsome when outlined in the sharp white of an unnatural illumination. Yet his vehicle bore no sign of life; no bumper stickers adorned the back. It lacked even a customary pine tree air freshener.

_ ‘He’s not gonna be missed by anyone, kid. Perfect target.’ _

_ ‘Unlucky guy.’ _

_ ‘It’s either this or getting in a crash further on the road and accidentally killing a family. Well, a family and himself. This is practically merciful.’ _

Licking his lips nervously, Dipper eyed the parked car and nodded, shifting his way through the trees with swift movements. Manic excitement writhed in his chest. He was actually going to do this. He was going to get the most potent ingredient yet. That’s what he was. An ingredient. Nothing more. 

Eyeing the shadowed figure by the side of the road, the teen thanked the stars for the darkness of the night. If he made any sound at all, the man gave no sign of having heard, still muttering into a dictaphone; the faint puffs of smoke that sputtered from under his bonnet indicated that the cheap car wasn’t going anywhere fast.

Measuring his footsteps, Dipper snuck around to the edge of the forest and behind his prey.

_ “Silentium _ ”, he whispered, watching the shadow suddenly grasp at his throat, incapable of making a sound. Desperation became apparent in his movements as both hands grasped helplessly at his neck; the teen took the moment of incapacitation in his stride and set the dictaphone alight, pelting quickly from his hiding spot and wrapping one arm around the man’s throat.

“If you know what’s good for you,” he muttered, breath hot on the stranger’s ear, “you won’t struggle. It will make this whole thing  _ so much easier. _ Got it?”

Already frozen in abject terror, he nodded ever so slightly and Dipper sharply wrapped cords around his wrists, actions clinical and rough. The night chill made the string bite into the pads of Dipper’s fingers unpleasantly, forcing the teen to hold back whimpers of pain; it was nothing in comparison to the discomfort that the capture felt, sizeable wrists chafing against the tight hold.

It took a significant knot for Dipper to be happy with his work, and he found that a significant length was left for him to hold. In spite of the burn of thin rope against his palm he wrapped the line once, twice, thrice around his hand, just below the knuckle. 

Hopefully Bill would see fit to deal with the car.

Strengthening himself and his ropes slightly, Dipper began to drag his capture through the trees, barely registering the appearance of Bill at his side. The demon’s gaze roved over the teen’s stiff form and the trussed up man (who was crying silently into the night), a sense of worry radiating from the gentle golden glow he emitted. “You okay there, kid?”

“Let’s just get this over with.” Dipper’s initial rush of adrenaline had worn off, and now the horror of what he was about to do was properly setting in. “We’ll make it quick. No point torturing the guy, we’re only doing this for blood.”

The man immediately began to struggle more, panicked movements creating a commotion of snaps and crashes as legs flew into tree branches and dug up the forest floor. Bill tutted and bound him in magical chains with a simple flick of the wrist; Dipper seemed immensely glad for the help and loosened his back a bit. The temple was a good fifteen minutes’ walk into the forest from where he’d kidnapped the victim, and time seemed to stretch into deserts as the repeated thud of a heavy body echoed into the stalwart trees. For a part of the journey Bill agreed to take up the slack, callously yanking the semi-conscious man along the most painful sections of bracken. His rattling giggle only silenced when Dipper took the time to glare in some desperate remnant of guilt.

Eventually Bill grew bored of his mindless torture and handed the cord back to the teen, floating eagerly ahead and rubbing his tiny hands together in barely masked glee once the back of the temple swam into view.

Dragging the body up the steps in a mimic of the cultists from years before, Dipper couldn’t help but chuckle darkly. The demon offered a comforting arm to his shoulder. On each step the man’s back would slam unpleasantly against the marble and he would jolt in pain, crying out soundlessly. It was difficult to tell whether he was more terrified or relieved when the teen finally flung his body out across the slab and tied him down securely.

“Knife,” Dipper whispered, offering a hand. An unfamiliar handle was slipped between his fingers and he peered down at it, blinking in surprise. “This was Oscar’s, wasn’t it?”

“You got it,” Bill replied, voice increasingly unreadable as he rubbed tiny black hands together. “We gonna anaesthetise the sucker?”

“Of course,” the teen mumbled, hastily pulling a cloth and some chloroform out of his bag. “Good thing Ford keeps a bit of everything around, huh.” He dripped what seemed a decent amount of the fluid onto the material and held it over the man’s face, letting out a sigh that he’d been unaware he was holding when any movement eventually stilled.

Dipper almost expected Bill to say something, judging by the way he was hovering close by; yet the demon remained silently observing, almost blindingly bright. Not wanting to ruin his clothing, Dipper zipped up the black hoodie he’d brought for the occasion and lifted the hood over his head, blocking out some of the golden light and a bit of his peremptory guilt. The hilt of the knife was painfully cold in his grasp. 

He could do this. He could do this.

Lifting the blade up as he’d seen Oscar do, Dipper whispered the prayer he’d come up with, ignoring the pleased sound that Bill made in response. He steadied his shaking hands. Shut his eyes. 

He could do this. This was so damn  _ difficult _ \- but he refused to fail.

With an unexpected amount of vitriol, Dipper brought the knife down, feeling the sharp edge sink through skin and muscle, hopefully piercing the heart. Blood poured out from the wound when he drew the weapon away, heart racing, mind blanking as his breathing spun out of control. He sunk the knife into the man’s chest,  _ again, again, AGAIN, _ until the action became thoughtless - mechanical. The sensation of warm blood against Dipper’s arm was so commonplace that he barely noticed the sticky fluid soaking into his clothing; that was, until Bill finally grabbed his arms mid-action and held them there.

“He’s dead, kid.” Bill sounded oddly muted.

Uncomprehending, the teen blinked up at the demon, body shaking wildly as his fingers clenched and unclenched on the blade’s hilt. It fell from his grasp and onto the still chest of the human below. “Dead,” Dipper whispered. He looked down at the slab and then at his hands, as though seeing them for the first time. “Fuck. Fuck.”

“Pine Tree, sit down - Don’t pass out, we’ve gotta clean up first.”

But the teenager was already close to slipping over, crying hysterically as he stared at the blood on his hands. He fell to his knees and clutched at his face. Smears of red were left in parallel lines along his cheeks.

“I killed a man,” Dipper sobbed, gagging and nibbling on a clean part of his clothing. “Fuck, Bill, I killed a man, he’s dead, shit, what do I tell  _ Mabel _ , what do I do -” He rocked back and forth on the cold marble floor. 

Blood was seeping down from the altar top onto the ground, meandering down the first few steps of the staircase. Bill huffed in frustration and directed it into the vials that Dipper had brought, unsure of whether to exalt in his success with the kid or worry that this may have been one push too far. Actually having him go insane would just be annoying. He reached into the teen’s mind and eased his thoughts with a deft hand; Dipper felt it this time, but was more grateful than upset, slowing his rocking and shuffling out of the bloodstained hoodie.

“Just remove it.”

“What?” Bill almost jumped at the teen’s words, shamefully retracting his grasp before pausing at the response that followed.

“I can feel you, you know.” Dipper didn’t sound particularly upset. “Just remove the guilt, or as much of it as you can. Make it easier.” He gulped pathetically, wringing his hands. “Please?”

Slightly unnerved (and gosh, did it take a lot for Bill to be  _ unnerved _ ), the demon did so, gently shifting feelings and responses around in the human’s head until all that remained was an immovable, but weak, twist of regret. Now calm, Dipper stood and stretched up to the sky. When he turned to Bill his features were carefully passive.

“Let’s clean up, shall we?”

After thinking on it a moment, Dipper shrugged and left his discarded clothing on the floor, flexing his magic down his right arm. The burn was nigh on painful; he ignored it in favour of carefully constructing a spell, ropes of energy forming a sizeable axe which he swung experimentally. Its sharp edge glistened in the moonlight.

“We going to make him easier to move?”

Bill remained silent for a moment, still practically blinding, completely motionless. When he responded, the undercurrent of babbling amusement was almost overwhelming. “If that's what you want to do, Pine Tree.”

Shaking with suppressed emotional exhaustion, Dipper rolled his shoulders and approached the altar.

***

Demons loved to  **destroy** . 

It was merely a fact, one that most would remember, but as Bill watched Dipper work he rather thought that the kid had ignored this truth. At the end of the day, there wasn't all that much to suggest that he wasn't already a prime example of said destruction. How much of his brain remained untouched? How much of it had been intact when summer began? 

Either way, the sight of the teenager was intoxicating, panting with exertion and stained liberally with the blood of a complete stranger. Dismembering the guy was wholly unnecessary - Bill could probably get the body buried and untraceable within seconds, but it was important that Pine Tree take the initiative here. To his credit, it was a very thorough job indeed. Flaking crimson was drying in large patches along both arms and soaking into his shirt. Nothing that a well worded spell couldn’t fix - although the same couldn’t be said for the wearer. 

Dipper’s breathing was abnormally harsh and short, paused only by the quick motion of his top row of teeth dipping to scrape his bottom lip, accidentally slipping iron into his mouth and making the teen wrinkle his nose. Ingrained forever in his memory was the sensation of the sharp blade of the axe carving through muscle and bone - it shouldn’t have been in any way exhilarating, yet the thrumming hummingbird behind his ribs betrayed the forbidden excitement he felt. Maybe it was just his terrified mind translating his fear incorrectly… or maybe Dipper truly had fallen that far. The lack of clarity in his feelings was possibly the most concerning part of the situation.

“You look wonderful, kid.” Bill found himself floating directly in front of the boy’s face, tilting his chin up to stare into dull eyes. “Like a dream come true.”

Dipper’s mouth hung slightly open, tip of his tongue pressed against his lower teeth. A heated breath escaped, pluming in a cloud of crystalline fog against the pitch, chilled night. His cheeks still shone a ruddy red both from his toil - the streaks of crimson daubed on them as well as the burning flush - and the faint hint of longing that would never be requited. Incapable of forming a response, he simply leant into the demon’s touch and shivered at the chilling burn that veritably sparked from Bill’s form. 

“Are you gonna pack that lot up, or shall I?”

Casting one vague glance at the mess behind them, Dipper whispered a gentle ‘you’. This suited Bill just fine; it would take him far less time than it would for the human. He cheerily bundled the body into a sack and siphoned off what blood he could from the altar (although he definitely paused to admire his temple, used correctly for the first time in years). The sack still left unfortunate smudged stains on the ground where it sat, and the teen outright refused to carry it.

“Give me a break.” Tears of some residual emotion prickled at the corner of lunar brown eyes. “I’ll dig the hole. But I’m not carrying that fucking sack.”

“Whoa, calm it, PT. I’ll take ‘im. Don’t gotta get so OTT.” Bill’s placating hand did very little to alleviate the hard frustration in Dipper’s body language.

“A whole lot is going on in my head right now. Whatever you did - it’s fluctuating. Give me a moment.” He looked away, cheeks shining, and turned back with a controlled expression. “Right. Got it. Let me stuff those vials into my bag and we can get going, I suppose.”

Together, they walked through the trees, leaving the temple to contemplate its sudden thorough scouring. True to his word, the demon clutched easily at the top of the fabric bundle. Any drips of fluid from the bottom were quickly removed from the ground they covered by Dipper, who almost frantically obliterated everything around the evidence. “Don’t want to get caught,” he muttered to nobody in particular. “Do _ not _ want to get caught.”

“Here.”

A tiny patch of uncovered ground, ferns rising easily around it, seemed to present itself as an ideal spot. Following Bill’s concise commands, Dipper lifted a mound of earth with his magic and peered into the hole doubtfully. “I don’t think it’s gonna fit in here. Not without some serious… modifications.” 

Bill had a solution, which the teen did not want to know the details of. All that he truly knew was that, once he was finally given the green light to turn around, there was no sign of the bag or of the body. Only a demon, hovering innocently against a background of wary eyes and the ever-present heavens. “You did a good job tonight, Pine Tree. Really  _ murdered  _ the opposition.”

“Too soon,” the teen chuckled weakly, still bowled over by the settling effects of Bill’s intrusion on his mind. A majority of the guilt had finally washed away entirely - almost to the level that it had when he had summoned the axe. Actually, the ebb and flow of changing opinions and approaches was entirely common, far too common... Far too much of his summer had been punctuated with decreasingly violent emotional swings in favour of the demon. 

Bill had messed with him before, without a doubt.

Even as he stared at the triangle abusing gravity directly in front of him, Dipper couldn’t bring himself to be surprised or furious in the slightest. Everything seemed so far away now - a vague concept of breathing in and out and feeling a solemn grief for the twelve year old boy who had stuck his nose in it. God, he’d been such a fool. Overestimating his control over the world until he’d gotten to the point where outright murder could no longer inspire true guilt in his gut.

Oh, well. No way forward, no going back, right? 

***

“Where are all the animals?”

To Dipper’s increasing agitation, the normally buzzing forest life was completely missing from view now, silence ringing in his ears. He was paranoically applying as many cleaning spells as possible to his outfit - not that he’d ever wear it again anyway - but it didn’t tear his attention away from the bizarrely determined aversion that the forest now seemed to have towards him. A little like the manotaur, when he thought on it.

“Afraid of your magic, kid. They know me, they know I’m connected to you.” Bill spoke mildly, for once, lower than a shout. “They fear you. How does it feel?”

Checking the state of his arms one last time, the teen gulped a lungful of leafy scents and hummed. “Good, I guess? It’s not as though anyone in high school has any respect for me. Kinda nice to see a change.”

“Sweet. Guess it means no more supernatural hunts, PT.”

“No.” His voice managed to carry some amusement. “I guess not.”

As the pair neared the Mystery Shack, Dipper felt the final, gentle curl of regret stabilize itself somewhere at the very back of his mind. Bill dared a glance; seeing no particular concern on the human’s face, he exalted. The exercise had been a wild success. Unfortunately, the closer proximity to his family meant that the teen was increasingly aware of his person and how very  _ human _ he felt, how  _ vulnerable.  _ It would not do to get caught outside this early in the morning. 

Despite being entirely clean, Dipper could hardly bare to continue wearing his hoodie, feeling the material itch and rub against his skin torturously. Noticing his discomfort, Bill rested a placating palm on his arm; the insidious burn ran in rivulets along the teen’s frame, almost as foreign as Dipper’s own hot breath embracing the night. The windows of the shack were entirely dark. 

Needing an anchor, the teen dared to grab Bill’s hand as he had mere days before; it felt so different. The warmth finally matched his own, not overwhelming and heady but a pulsing heat that simmered and bubbled beneath Dipper’s skin equally as readily as the demon’s. Bill blinked slowly down at it, and sighed.

“I don’t love you.” The statement had no inflection of any kind, mere fact presented to the still world. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah, Bill.” Dipper sounded exhausted. “I know.” 

The sun crested placidly over the nearby hills and bathed them in gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QSO BK’G RLQW, ULH FH ASL NOPQIV - XECSJL GY TOJP, LWKV QMPIK MYS QWSJF  
> (The ciphers do contain foreshadowing most of the time. How much foreshadowing, I can't say.)
> 
> I'm going to be pretty busy over the next week, so I apologise if the next chapter takes a little while. I'll try get it up within two weeks.
> 
> SONG: 'I'm Your Puppet' by Gregory and the Hawk


	15. A Mistake

_ “A car has been found at the side of a main leading out of Gravity Falls. Beyond a small ash pile, there is no sign of the owner and a complete lack of DNA or personal items within or around the car. Police are asking for any witnesses to bring forward evidence, although there is no sign of a struggle.” _

The radio crackled and popped as Dipper bit into a pancake, running his tongue over the metal prongs of the fork and feeling his core twist with want. Across from him, Mabel was frowning at the news being broadcast through the diner, thanking Lazy Susan briefly as she poured yet another cup of steaming black coffee out. The woman lingered, shuffling things around as perfectly as possible for the twins; it was a well known ploy for starting a conversation.

“Oh, ‘s just terrible, isn’t it?” Smoothing out her apron, Susan gave a considered hum. “Your heart’s gotta go out to them, poor thing.”

_ “Thus far, no persons have come forward to report a missing family member or friend.” _

Digging a spoon into an unhealthy pile of ice cream and sprinkles that  _ apparently  _ constituted a breakfast, Mabel nodded, cheeks abnormally ruddy. After clutching at her head from insane brain freeze at least 7 times, he’d thought she’d have given up by now. “I hope they’re okay! I mean, Gravity Freakin’ Falls isn’t the safest of places, but, you know,” she rammed the spoon between her lips, allowing the handle to dangle out and bounce wildly as she spoke. “It’sh not very common that psheople acshually dishappear.” 

“Most of the time,” her brother interjected, resting his chin on one hand.

“Mosht of the time,” she agreed. Pulling the utensil out with a pop (perfectly gleaming), Mabel waggled it accusingly at Dipper, squinting. “We should totally investigate, bro-bro. It’ll be like… Mystery Twins: Reloaded!”

_ “- that he gave. ‘Naturally, we aren’t ruling out foul play. Just because there is limited evidence, it does not mean that the case will - ” _

“Oh, that’d be so fun! I’m sure you’d find out what happened, especially with your expertise.” A twinkle of favouritism gleamed in Lazy Susan’s eye, hand still tightly gripping a glass pot of coffee. “Maybe that hunkle of yours would help out.”

“You did NOT.” Mabel looked ready to cry with joy. “OMG.  _ Hunkle. _ That’s the best pun I’ve ever heard! And see, Dip, it’s a great idea!”

“... it really isn’t.” 

“Do you really exshpect Blubs and Durland to solve it?” 

“Now don’t be rude,” Susan admonished, no longer even pretending to have anything to do. “Our cops are lovely, capable men. Maybe a little too infatuated with one another, but who am I to deny love?”

Dipper shut his eyes, really not wanting his mind to take any unfortunate paths with that. “It’s not that I doubt them,” he muttered hastily. “It’s probably not even necessary. There’s no need to go on the lookout when everything’s so obscure.”

_ “ - and we also cannot rule out the possibility of murd -” _

Lost to an almost deafening haze of static, the speaker’s statement dissolved into incoherency, Dipper having jumped and almost thoughtlessly drowned it out with a burst of magic. A few patrons were covering their ears and scowling at the unwanted cacophony. 

“WHEREVER THE CAR OWNER IS,” he yelled. “I’M SURE THEY’RE FINE.” 

Dipper only barely caught the spark of laughter that rang in his mind, and didn’t have the energy to tell off the demon.

“I SURE HOPE SO,” Mabel responded, shouting despite the fact that the wild static had already died down. Much as her brother could half appreciate the wide, mad grin pasted across her face, he also noticed the calculating squint to her eyes. “I’m pretty sure murder isn’t the usual fare around here.”

Flinching, Dipper managed a brief chuckle. 

_ ‘That’s what she thinks.’ _

_ ‘Don’t distract me.’ _ The last vestiges of pancake were cleared from his plate; he licked the remaining syrup away in three quick motions.  _ ‘I’m not going to look suspicious, not right now.’ _

_ ‘I wouldn’t worry about it, kid.’ _

Sunlight rippled through the windows of the diner and bathed them all in considerate warmth, holding the twins close, and in spite of everything, Dipper felt oddly okay. He’d awoken that morning with a killer headache and a frustratingly quiet heart. Stan and Ford had been bickering good-naturedly as he’d descended the shack stairs. A crisp wad of dollars had been shoved unceremoniously into his hand because ‘some people couldn’t remember to buy food, but had no problems remembering to buy seventeen gallons of oil.’

Even with blood on his hands (once literally, now thankfully merely metaphorical) the teen felt as though nothing had really changed. His family were still blissfully unaware. His sister was her chirpy, astute self. Bill continued his bizarre monologues en masse, normalising the night before until it faded to little more than a dream. 

Maybe it was. In fact, it had almost seemed like one until the crumpled up clothing at the foot of his bed weighed down on his legs like a ball and chain. 

_ “Next up: a talk on ancient history, focusing on the bizarre nature of ancient prophecies. The random babbling of prehistoric man, or a genuine warning?” _

***

“I don’t love you. You know that, right?”

Nobody responded. Dipper kicked at a rock, petulantly wandering through the forest as he was so often wont to do. He repeated the words, as though saying them again might lessen the blow - as though he could convince the world itself that it was unloved, as though the trees and the animals actually gave a damn about his feelings.

Well, the trees anyway. Any animals in the area had absconded in a similar way to the night before. 

“I don’t  _ love  _ you.” The words came out rather choked. “You know that, right?” An eye blinked from a tree. “I  _ don’t love you. _ Shit. He doesn’t love me.” 

He’d been rather studiously ignoring that fact all morning, up until the point that Bill had demanded the teen head out to the temple, claiming there was ‘more work to be done, immediately.’ Being left to walk alone, his mind had naturally taken a little walk of its own, and now he was stuck in the awful cyclical train of thought that read  _ he doesn’t love you don’t think about it he doesn’t love you and it probably never mattered - _

Frustrated, he let out a cry and pulled out his switchblade, burying it into a nearby trunk. Metal sank into soft bark, punished hand maintaining a tight grasp as his back curved and his head drooped. “He doesn’t love me.” Dipper could feel the burn at his tear ducts. “It was stupid of me to even think he might. I’m such an  _ idiot. _ ”

_ ‘Pine Tree, quit the melodrama and get over here.’  _ The patience in Bill’s message was limited. 

_ ‘Sorry. I won’t be long.’ _

It took a few tugs to dislodge the blade, almost knocking the teen over with the effort. Oddly, he felt no embarrassment, knowing that the demon could see his every move. He’d grown to expect it at this point.

Once he finally cast eyes upon the altar, Dipper found that he felt a touch better, watching Bill drag a finger along the marble and appear disappointed at the lack of residue that it returned. Of course every hint of evidence had been completely demolished; it was entirely for the best, given the slight increase in heart rate that accompanied the mere sight of the temple. 

Annoyingly, the teen couldn’t tell if it was fear or anticipation.

“Take your  _ time _ , kid!” Bill flew down and tapped at a ridiculously large watch face embedded in his arm. “Done with your  _ woe is me  _ bullshit, or do we need to have another run of last night?” 

“No, no, we don’t. I’m over it.” Scratching gently at the back of his neck, Dipper began to walk towards the steps and paused at the bottom of them, curiously studying the pure white stone. “I was overly expectant as ever. Sorry.” He coughed, shifting his gaze to Bill. “I... have a suggestion.”

“Oh?” The demon loved ambiguity; he flew forward with excited trepidation.

Dipper leant against a marble pillar and dropped his bag on the floor lightly, adam’s apple bobbing  with fear. “Call it security. I… I know that this isn’t going to be good, Bill. So I had an idea.”

“An idea?” The demon’s hands rubbed together with glee. “I like ideas. Watcha got?”

Astounded as ever by the mere improbability of their conversation, Dipper slowly formed his words, not wanting to screw up something so potentially damaging. “A deal, of sorts. There’s always a chance that something might go wrong, and if I end up incapacitated or against something I can’t fight, it would be uh, prudent, to have a fallback. Basically, you can possess me whenever the situation is dire enough. I trust you to make the decision as to when that is.”

After a long (and terrifying second) Bill’s eye curved in an overly familiar hunger. “Now  _ that _ is a  _ good  _ deal, kid! Kudos to you. You’re getting the hang of this!” Hovering directly in front of the human’s face, the demon tilted to the side in thought. “Are you running this one, or am I?”

Confident in his own abilities, Dipper offered a blazing blue hand, smiling softly. “I got this. Do we have a deal?”

“Sure as time is an illusion and ultimately meaningless!” Bill grabbed Dipper’s palm greedily, shaking eagerly thrice and then clenching his fist nigh painfully.

“Test run!”

Bill did not relinquish his grip, pulling Dipper out of his body and flinging his spirit out into the Mindscape. In a bizarre show, Bill’s physical form glowed golden and lost substance, flying into the limp human form. Brown eyes quickly flickered to the telltale cat-eye slits that used to terrify Dipper so much. Watching from the Mindscape, the human couldn’t help but notice the way that he no longer found the sight of Bill’s mind in his body so foreign - aside from his odd gait, the faint sardonic smile wasn’t so strange. It stood to prove just how much the teen had changed over the past months. 

Cracking a set of abused knuckles, Bipper laughed. “Woohoo, this thing is way more beaten up than it was in June! Sorry kid, really did a number on ya, evidently.” Casting his flames inquisitively, the demon seemed highly satisfied. “Magic link’s about as strong as you get! Nice.”

“Yeah. It’s pretty cool.” Dipper felt a little self-conscious about having another being controlling his body, especially as it’d been his idea. 

Bipper went for a careening walk about the temple, slipping and falling once or twice before ascending the steps. He laid himself out on the altar. “This is fun!” He shivered, sliding his hands over the cool marble and gasping. “Human sensation is super wild. Like, my form is good, but your senses are so _ wrong!  _ Kinda fun. I could totally rock one of these.”

“We could get you one,” Dipper muttered, floating over with similarly experimental movement. “I mean, it’s not too difficult to rope some sucker into a deal.”

“He said, with no sense of irony or hypocrisy  _ whatsoever _ .” Giggling at the unimpressed glare he received, Bill shrugged and arched his back against the stone, stretching. An unfathomable number of limbs groaned in protest. “They’re fun for experiments, but I don’t want my own meatbag. Gross. I’d have to look after it, and  _ bathe _ . Eating is wild, it’s just the whole  _ excre- _ ”

“Let’s  _ not _ talk about that right now. Point taken.” 

Flipping over onto his stomach, Bipper accidentally smashed his face into the stone, screaming in indignation at the shooting pains that ricocheted from his nose and across his cheeks. The shock quickly translated into hysterical laughter, Bill swinging himself to sit on the altar and attempt to lick at the twin streams of blood running to his mouth.

“That wash fucking painful! Let’sh do it again -”

“No! No, don’t, you’ve given me a nosebleed, just - oh Jesus,” Dipper flew over and ghosted a hand over his own bloodied face, wincing miserably. “You could be a little more careful, Bill.”

“It’sh not… heh.” Mumbling a quiet spell, all evidence of the damage slowly faded, leaving only the drying crimson streaks, painting his lips red. “Sorry, kid. Total accident. Unlike the forks. Mind you, they were  _ fun _ , ya know, after being stuck in the Mindscape so long.”

Staring at the continuous vibrant grin (which must have been exhausting, muscles were not meant to stay in the same place for so long), Dipper shrugged, battling between indignation and pity. “I had those scars for months,” he muttered. “I can’t really blame you, you must have been lonely, trapped in this place for so long.” Waving an immaterial arm, the teen gestured to the monochrome world he was trapped in. “It’s not exactly Funsville.”

“Ya got that right. It  _ sucked _ . Not as much as my last dimension, but ya know. Prefer to have a bit of  _ depth _ .” Rubbing at the prickling sensation of the blood cracking away from his skin, Bill seemed almost thoughtful. “Are you lonely, kid?” 

“What?” The question caught Dipper almost entirely off guard, finding himself mindlessly floating off across the temple. He tried to focus and remain in front of his body. “No? I’m fine.”

“You don’t miss the joys of Sixer and Fez then?” 

“No, not really.”

“Not even Shooting Star?”

Dipper hesitated. “...No.”

Bipper scrutinised the human for a moment before laughing wildly, rubbing his hands together in a barely contained glee. “Righty then! Let’s get on with my big bad plan, shall we?” Bill tugged himself out of the teen’s body, still that bizarre manifestation of gold, and shoved Dipper in. He almost fell off the altar, caught in Bill’s arms as the pair slowly readjusted to their own bodies. Frowning, Dipper clutched at his head, an unfamiliar swimming sensation running rampant. 

“We’re gonna need to work mostly in the evening, kid, so I hope you made your excuses.”

“Mabel’s got my back. I said something about wanting to go out and take a trip to see Bradley, so she’s gonna tell that to Sixer.” He blinked. “Ford, even.”

“C’mon then, we’ve got a lot of discussing to do. This is a tricky spell, even for me.” Floating to descend the steps on foot - a sight that made the human snort - Bill paused. “Still don’t wanna know what it’s for?”

“I said I didn’t.” 

“It’s your poison.”

***

Dusk had gathered alongside a surprisingly powerful summer storm, punched purple clouds gradually loosening as the minutes wore on. Wincing, Dipper stretched one arm out from the tree he was taking refuge under, feeling a few fat droplets bounce off his skin. While the drizzle was currently light, the threatening grumble of thunder promised a real downpour. 

“Do you still think we should do this?” Turning to look at Bill, who was scratching furious notes onto thin cartridge paper, Dipper shook his head. “I mean, this thing looks like it’s going to be huge. I doubt the candles will light.”

“It’ll be fine, PT.” Bill shifted his glasses (or monocle, arguably, given there was only one lens) and peered closely at his own etchings. “You’re magic, for fuck’s sake. Be  _ inventive. _ ”

A little affronted, the human merely pressed his back further into the tree trunk and watched the rain gradually increase in intensity, winds starting to whip through the woods. Eventually the canopy of leaves was no longer enough. Dipper was forced to pull his hood up over his ears, scowling, simply thankful that it wasn’t the black one from the night before. As Bill had reassured him constantly throughout the day, there was absolutely no way for the police to catch him. You could hardly convict a murderer with no evidence.

Naturally, the teen disliked having the word ‘murderer’ be applicable, regardless of the potential convictions. 

Lightning flashed somewhere in the distance, the time following punctuated by a thunderclap that rolled along the skies, making Dipper shiver, suddenly extremely on edge. Storms were perfectly enjoyable when you were inside; outside, it was nothing short of terrifying. Finally Bill seemed to be done, hand coming to rest on the human’s shoulder. “Aight, kid,” the demon hummed, removing his glasses and throwing them mindlessly into the brush. He shoved his collection of notes into Dipper’s hand. “You ready?”

Barely able to see in the collection of twilight and shadows, he shrugged. “I have no idea what I’m doing, so yeah, sure.”

To his dismay, the wind and rain were even more significant than he’d feared, whipping at his face and sides mercilessly. Dipper darted out of the forests and found himself at the back of the diner, peering down at Bill’s magically protected papers through water-dripped lashes, rain running in rivulets down his forehead and cheeks until it finally forced its way through his lips. It tasted of nothing - he wanted copper, he wanted iron, and he wished he didn’t.

An astonishingly complex, entirely hand-drawn map was spread out on the first sheet, betraying a touch of Bill’s art style. In red he’d added a huge circle - diameter spanning far more houses and shops than seemed reasonable - with a tiny note that Dipper was  _ lucky he wouldn’t be climbing buildings to make this circle work. _ It was obvious that the demon had taken a lot of time to make sure it would work just so. 

On the second sheet was a long, complex spell, designed specifically for the blood. Dumping his bag in a puddle, Dipper quickly performed the same protection spell on the vials and their contents as Bill had his notes, smiling faintly at the brief glow they emitted.

Pacing out to the road, he uncorked the first vial and slowly, painstakingly, drew out the circle. He had to refer to the map every few seconds, barely able to see due to the sheets of water plastering down his hair and soaking his face. Another kiss of thunder graced the sky. ‘ _ Why could you not do this?’  _ Dipper had barely managed to set down a yard of the spell circle and it had been a good ten minutes.  _ ‘Surely it’d be a lot faster?’ _

_ ‘I would, but I can’t go out into the town. Too risky.’ _

_ ‘And having me slowly pour blood out onto the roads isn’t?’ _

_ ‘Everyone’s asleep, I made sure of that.’ _

Choosing not to point out that Bill could very easily do his part if everybody was asleep, Dipper continued his labour for a good few hours, snaking behind the diner, almost crying with relief when he reached the start point. The magically protected blood had stayed true, forming the largest necromancy circle yet, and for all the human felt more like a drowned church mouse he was aware of the burn of pride.

Shuffling to the third sheet of paper, Dipper swore. It was, effectively, an umbrella spell. He took a quick break to shout at Bill.

Fully dried off and now relatively protected, he set out the scented white candles equidistant from one another (having stolen them from Mabel in a fit of daring) and made sure not to put them too near to any buildings. Lazy Susan would definitely have his head if he burned down her workplace. One clap of the hands and they lit, all flickering with dangerous blue flame that defied the continual downpour.

He dug down into his backpack, which was beyond salvaging. Out came the spray paint that he’d stolen the other day. Shaking it violently, Dipper wondered briefly why Bill said it would work, still stocked with several vials.  _ ‘So, gotta draw this out like it says on the diagram, yeah?’ _

_ ‘It would look that way, kid.’  _

Neatly, he copied a selection of demonic runes along the inside of the spell. The scent of soaking dust mixed with the tart sting of toxic paint fumes, prompting more than one violent coughing fit, and the teen winced, covering his mouth and nose with one hand. Sufficiently pleased with his work, he stood directly between two candles, trying to read Bill’s writing (which was starting to smudge, magic having worn thin.) 

_ “Tolle quod est vivum. Deleo. Tolle quod est vivum. Deleo, raptio, furo.” _

For a tense second, Dipper thought that the spell hadn’t worked. 

Then, inch by inch, the circle began to disappear - sinking into the earth and dispersing, candles melting violently and soaking into the tarmac roads as the rain did the soil. His runes glowed painfully bright, emitting a surprisingly loud whoosh of energy. It was akin to the sound of an engine being booted up, a vast rush of power collecting, and it took all of Dipper’s control to stay where he was and not pelt into the safety of the woods.  

Gradually, every speck of blood, every hint of wax, even the spray paint, disappeared, leaving nothing more than an insanely intense smell of ozone and a sense of anticlimax. A conclusion lingered in the air, one that the human couldn’t quite pin.  _ ‘What… what now?’  _ The storm was only increasing in vitriol, battering at Dipper with a personal fury.

_ ‘Now you go home. Sleep it off. You’ll find out what it was for soon enough.’ _

Dipper stumbled back into the trees, slinging his sodden bag over one shoulder.  _ ‘A test, right?’ _

_ ‘Well, yeah, also a bit of fun,y’know? We both get to see exactly what the powers of the wonderful Bill Cipher can do, and get a kick out of it.’ _

Running to the hint of gold light amongst the stretching branches, Dipper whimpered at his creaking back and arms, shivers of overexertion spasming along his arms and legs. Bill almost seemed surprised by his appearance, hovering in a clearing with a cluster of plants in his arms. “Oh. I thought you were gonna go home. Mind you, check out this lot, we can summon some real nasties -”

“No, Bill, give me this much, okay? How much shit am I in?” When the demon failed to reply, the teen sighed. “I’ve already killed one person. It’s not like I’m too worried about that, but if I get caught…”

“It’s bad, Pine Tree.” Bill put it as bluntly as he could. “So sleep.”

“Right. Okay, okay.” Dithering, Dipper threw caution to the wind and grabbed at the demon’s arms, pulling him down and kissing him next to his bowtie, letting go immediately after. He rubbed at his eyes. “Sorry. Sorry, I’m going to go now. Goodnight.”

Bill watched his human disappear into the undergrowth and tapped at the warm spot on his front, uncertain as to whether he was angry or almost pitying. The kid stood no chance, not if he couldn’t curb his affections. It wasn’t as though it would change anything of course - fate held true no matter what petty feelings said, and promise tickled at Bill’s palms as he listened to the spell finally starting to work. 

“This should be a show.” Giggling once, the demon hovered to the edge of the forest to watch.

***

Exhausted, and more than a little nervous, Dipper fell through the front door and creaked his way up the stairs, avoiding Stan’s mocking wolf-whistle and falling into bed. His eyes slipped shut before he had the chance to become anxious.

*** 

Dipper was awoken by a large, six-fingered hand shaking his shoulder, urging him to  _ get up now _ ,  _ we need to go _ . The sound of hurried footsteps echoed around the shack - far more than just those of his family, he thought - panicked voices raised in desperate cries to pass this and grab that. “Whuzzgoinon?” the teen managed to mutter blearily; he blinked into the veritable darkness of the sunrise, a severe shadow cutting out the light from Bill’s window.

“I don’t know yet, boy, but there’s been a disturbance in town. Not a good one. We need to go.”

Pulling clothes on with clumsy, half-focused movements, Dipper could already feel the bubbles of terror and anticipation in his gut. This could only be the spell. In his exhausted state he was incapable of conjuring up sufficient intelligence to try and work out what exactly he’d done - so that he could be minorly prepared, at least. 

“WE’RE GOING!” A rough voice announced from the door, and the teen almost fell down the stairs trying to descend them in mismatched shoes. Mabel was already waiting, blearily blinking at her brother.

“Hey,” he offered, word a croak. 

“Hi.” 

Morning chill bit into Dipper’s cheeks and he was thankful when the assembled group (Stan, Mabel, Ford, Deputy Durland and Blubs) finally set off striding towards town. They cut through sections of forest as they travelled, absolutely silent, all caught in terrified mute anticipation. Branches scratched and pulled at their arms and legs, making all but Ford wince silently, discomfited by the snaps and rustles of the undergrowth.

As they drew near to the town, the wail of sirens and panicking voices grew louder and louder, until the teen could hardly believe that Gravity Falls could make such a desperate sound. It was more reminiscent of the devastating bombings and miseries of sprawling cities, not a backwater hick town. 

Then again, Dipper didn’t actually know what he’d done.  

By all rights, the group should have been approaching the diner, but its familiar shadow was not visible through the treeline, nor the warm scent of early morning food. If anything, the air was faintly nauseating, like a dust cloud or the lingering memory of somebody cold. Dipper was the first one to break through the trees, stumbling back into Mabel and kneading one hand through his hair. Pain and terror prickled at the ends of his fingers. 

“Oh  _ god. _ ”

The spell had been exactly as bad as Dipper had feared. For a moment, he wondered why he hadn’t suspected its purpose from the second that he’d drawn out the markers, set down those candles. An entire chunk of the world was missing, cut away and lifted out as easily as ripping off a plaster.

Everybody and everything was  **dead** .

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QETXUELOB XHH GIMRQ ONRZW  
> EADGTOB LOZ WLE IXXUUH KOHV  
> We’re going full on Shakespearean tragedy level shit from here on out. Hold onto your hats.
> 
> SONG(S, BECAUSE I’M INDECISIVE): Killer by The Hoosiers, Arsonist’s Lullabye by Hosier


	16. In Plain Sight

“We're going to search for the murderer.”

Chewing very purposefully on his off-brand Cheerios, Dipper weighed up the best response to this, ultimately choosing to stare absently into the stained milk in his bowl and focus on  _ not  _ crying. The news was not a surprise. He could see Stan meticulously checking over his gun at one of the kitchen counters, treating it nigh-lovingly. The boy felt a cold sear of abject terror run through his heart and he returned his gaze to his food, eating with a vengeance. Mabel was sniffling solemnly opposite to him, clutching at the side of Ford's coat to ground her, breakfast untouched. A six-fingered hand was carding thoughtfully through her hair.

“We know they used magic, that's for sure, although what kind is still up in the air. I suspect demonic interference. Only a demon would want to create this kind of chaos. Although… there’s no reason it couldn’t have been a human channeling magic via something else.”

Dipper felt like a cow, the way that he was chewing, eyes set firmly forward. Glassy. Inhuman.

“Is it-” Mabel sounded similarly afraid, but maybe curious. “Is it you-know-who?”

“Bill?” 

Freezing in place, the boy felt his heart stutter at the sound of the name slipping from Ford's lips; he tried to keep the spoon from clattering on the edge of the bowl and failed. When he brought it up to his lips, it was empty - the cereal was all gone. How vacant he must look. Thankfully, none of them noticed his mechanical gestures.

“I was gonna say Gideon, actually.” She giggled quietly. “Looking at it, yeah, that makes more sense.”

“I can’t see  _ lil’ Gideon _ pulling off a stunt like this,” Stan growled from his corner of the room. “He’s mellowed out a bit since he got out of prison anyway. Still a pint-sized bastard but,” he considered the polished barrel of the gun, “I doubt he’s got any reason to put himself back in the slammer.” 

“Or six feet under,” Ford chimed in. 

Dipper sunk a little lower in his chair and reached thoughtlessly for his glass of orange juice. Once he had a hand around its smooth, chilled surface, he nursed the drink slowly and leant into the familiar wood of the furniture. The tart tang of the juice managed to soothe him somewhat. It tasted of California.

“Would they actually kill them?” Mabel sounded horrified, which, to her twin’s mind, was the right response. “Surely they couldn’t do that.”

“If they don’t get the death penalty, then the townspeople might take things into their own hands. Never underestimate the power of anger. They will want revenge - once they’re finished with their mourning.” Stanford watched his brother as he stood and dropped his weapon flat onto the counter. “Lee?”

“Never mind the town, I’ll get ‘em myself given the chance.” His oxymoronic tone sang with anger and grief. “Let’s see ‘em survive a gun to the head and a bullet in the brain.”

Ford coughed awkwardly, noticing the way that Dipper froze up and began to shake. The teen already looked positively virulent, exhausted and terrified, probably caught up in the aged memories that haunted him from a few summers before. “I doubt that’ll be necessary, Lee. We can definitely make sure they come to justice.”

Standing, he shrugged his coat up, shoulders suddenly seeming hunched. There was a pause. “Dipper?”

The teen almost fell out of his chair in shock, spoon clattering on the table as he righted himself again. “Y-yes, Grunkle Ford?”

“Have you taken your meds this morning? You seem very shaky.”

“N-no, actually, I think I’ll go do that now. Thanks for the reminder.” This was a lie; Dipper had thrown two pills down his throat the second he had awoken, but he didn’t want to sit in the kitchen for any longer than he had to. Passing Stan as he went, his eyes trailed along the length of the gun and he smiled wanly, running up the stairs two at a time. Once he reached his room he slammed the door shut and collapsed on the other side.

“Bill?” 

There was no response.

“B-bill, are you there? You can’t leave me alone, not n-now.” He met only silence. “Please, Bill. Come back, talk to me, you were around this m-morning. For f-fuck’s sake.” 

Dipper was ready to throw something - preferably something very heavy - through the window, when his arm stung violently. He swore, hissing through gritted teeth, and stared at the source of the pain. His claim had turned a turbulent red. Picture Bill glared up at him from his wrist and blinked in what the teen could’ve sworn was disappointment.

_ ‘I’m very busy, Pine Tree. I got a lot of shit to be dealing with right now. Can you not handle your family for a day?’ _

“B-but, they’re going to catch me, they’re planning to get revenge on -”

_ ‘Honestly. If you can’t control a handful of Pines for a little while, kid, then you can’t hope to continue with what we’re planning. So quit your whining and fucking  _ **_deal with it.’_ **

That was all the demon had to say on the matter. No matter how much the human plied the still air for further information, Bill stayed resolutely silent and absent, apparently far too busy to help out with the unimportant issues of his  _ friend _ . Dipper couldn’t bring himself to remain frustrated, though, and he rested his head against the door as the light through the window rose and faded in time with the clouds.

***

The early morning had been pure hell. It had taken a long time to take in the entirety of the damage.

People, trees, animals, even the buildings were nothing now, just charred and unrecognizable ash. There must have been upwards of thirty people living within the radius of the spell - at least - and they were gone. Young and old, wearied or awake, all the townsfolk were slowly gathering to see the damage that had occurred, to mourn their dead.

And yet, Dipper's only thought was how utterly and totally  _ fucked  _ he was. 

Standing on the edge of something like this… It felt like tipping over the edge of the universe itself. One inch too close, and the boy would topple into nonexistence, insanity, who knew what, and he could feel himself slipping closer as the choked cries of townsfolk and his own family caught his ears. None of them even noticed his presence, trying only to work out if somebody they loved was gone.

“Dipper, what is this?” Ford had paled beyond anything that the teen had ever seen before, still resting against a tree in the forest. He stepped up the strikingly neat line of the spell. This was so bad. So, so bad. “Who… Who did this?  _ Why? _ ”

Stan's wail of misery cut over the rest. “The diner!” He sifted his hands through the pile of ash, desperate for  _ something _ solid to hold onto, but came up with nothing. “She lived here, she can’t be - she must have gotten away, she can’t be -” He crumpled up into a ball, dirtying his shirt. “She  _ can’t  _ be dead.”

Fuck.

Dipper hadn’t even thought about Lazy Susan. 

Uncomfortably, Ford stooped over to hug his brother, pulling him up from the ground and allowing Stan to slump against his front, head buried in his jumper. “It’s okay, Lee. It’ll be okay.” Rubbing one hand on Stan’s back, he turned to a nameless policeman, brow knitted. “How many dead, do you think?”

“There are 37 people living in this area. Or, there were.” He tipped his cap and winced. “Never seen anythin’ like it in 20 years of law enforcement. Why would anybody want to do this?”

“That’s what I want to know.” Allowing Stanley to sit down on the ground (where he knelt and gazed helplessly), Ford scratched at his head. “I mean, that’s what you’re here to investigate, uh…”

“Sergeant Temple-Brown, sir. Call me David. I assume you’re the esteemed Stanford Pines?” He offered a hand. “Heard a lot about you back at the station.”

Ford took it. “That’s me. David, do you have a precise layout of the numbers?”

“Sure thing.” A spiral notebook was yanked out, wearied eyes tracing half-legible scribbles. “37 dead, 15 male, 14 female, and 8 children. 18 buildings were destroyed. The eldest, 84, the youngest, 3. So far as we know, there is no DNA evidence left.” David bowed his head. “Assumin’ all these people were home last night, they’re the ones we see before us. It’s mostly guesswork.”

Dipper was listening in with half an ear. His breath caught in his throat. “8  _ children _ ,” he whispered, eyes wide. “ _ Fuck.” _

“Do you think this could be linked with the disappearance the other day?” 

David didn’t even have to ask who Ford meant, running a finger along the cold metal spiral of his book. “Gee, perhaps. We can’t say much, but there was no DNA there either. Mind you, the ash by the car was very similar… We’ll have to see what links we can make.”

“Thank you, David, I’ll probably be in touch. I’m something of an expert in extranormal occurrences, so I’ll be investigating privately.” Stanford had taken on such an authoritative tone that the policeman nodded without a second thought. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to see to my brother…”

“Oh, of course, of course. The best of luck to you both.” 

The elder took down some brief notes on the back of his hand with a blue biro and ruffled up his hair, sighing heavily. Suddenly Ford had somebody very dangerous and potentially supernatural to catch, while also keeping his brother afloat in a time of grief. He’d barely known Stanley’s girlfriend, but she’d certainly seemed friendly enough during their brief introduction. It was a damn shame. The whole thing was a damn shame; a huge waste of life and potential. 

A short distance away, Dipper couldn’t help himself. The reality of the situation was all too clear, washing over his shoulders and weighing him down into hopelessness as he tried, desperately, to remain afloat. His back curled in, matching those of almost everyone around him, and he cried. Not loudly, not angrily, but desperately. A mourner of his own funeral. It was lost amongst the babble of the crowd. Mabel, trying to take it in herself, turned and noticed her brother, how he clutched at his chest and sobbed openly.

“Oh god, Dipper,” she ran over, hair bouncing, and wrapped her arms around his torso. After a second of hesitation, he returned the gesture. “Dipper, are you okay?” 

He didn’t respond; even as he tried to form a word, salty tears slid into his open mouth and he shook his head, shaking. Concerned, his sister merely held him closer. He buried his face into her hair and inhaled as deeply as he could without being obvious - she smelt of cookies, and Mabel juice, and something verging on summer air. It was a stark contrast to the painful stench of ozone left over from the spell. He gasped, and gasped, until the temptation to scrabble at his throat was almost overwhelming.

“It’s okay, Dipper, it’s okay, I’ve got you.” Indiscreetly, she gestured to her great uncles, Ford half carrying Stanley as he limped over. “I think Dip’s having some kind of anxiety attack, his breathing’s going wild. We should go home. Do you think you could carry him - ?”

It took a full minute to convince the teen to surrender himself to Ford’s arms, and another minute to convince Stan that he should start moving and stop staring at the circle of perfect destruction. Dipper allowed himself to lie limp in his Grunkle’s arms, incapable of steadying his  _ fucking god damn breathing for the love of christ why couldn’t he just calm down _ as Bill parroted away in his mind. The mosquito hum of the demon stirred in with his thoughts until the two were indistinguishable from one another. Where did Bill end and Dipper begin? 

_ ‘I mean shit, kid, I don’t know  _ what I was expecting, this is a dream demon for chrissake, and  _ it’s not like it wasn’t gonna happen eventually, and it’s not _ like I can’t protect myself a bit, the magic will  _ definitely come in handy, ya know, just like that dea- ‘ _

“Dipper? We’re home.” 

Blinking back into reality, the teen found he’d missed the entirety of the trip back from the spell, tiny scratches from vengeful branches still littering his arms. The shack also smelled oddly foreign after such an assault on the senses, the same old oak and dust that he’d wrinkled his nose at three years before.

“God, he’s really out of it, isn’t he?” Mabel helped her brother out of Ford’s arms, watching his legs fold and then struggle to regain their balance. “Do you think he’ll be okay?” 

“Tired, probably. And your brother’s health problems are complicated, Mabel honey. This probably triggered a lot of bad memories from somewhere in the past. We’ll all go and sleep, and wake up for... ten, let’s say, ready to get onto this. How does that sound?” 

Stanley gave an almost harsh laugh and immediately went to his room, not even waving in goodbye. Nervously, Mabel took her brother by the arm. “Sure. See you soon, Grunkle Ford.” She guided Dipper up the stairs, where he collapsed into bed - and failed to sleep.

“Sleep well, bro. I… hope you’re okay.”

_ ‘I’m not going _ to allow this to be  _ dressed up, kid,  _ this is so fucking bad  _ and if you just listen to  _ Bill it’ll be okay. Right?  _ Trust me, trust  _ him, it’ll be okay, it’ll be okay,  _ focus on how warm  _ his hand  _ his blood  _ felt, and it’ll all be okay.  _ Focus on the metallic tang _ the warmth of the good days and  _ everything is gonna be a-okay, Pine Tree. _ Everything is going to be fine  _ fine _ and nobody needs  _ to find out.’ _

_ ‘He’ll never find you out.’ _

***

Dipper watched his Grunkles from the window.

He’d relocated to the attic room, sunk into the seat by the tinted glass, and taken to staring down at the ground below. Ford was heavily invested in his testing, already producing results and passing various papers to Stan. In spite of his grief, Stan was managing to hold together; the red, raw circles under his eyes spoke more of his misery than anything else.

Much as he wanted to cry, he didn’t. 

Similarly, Dipper held back tears, albeit for entirely different reasons. 

His heart seemed to have taken permanent residence in his mouth, head spinning with constant terror the closer his great uncles got to making something that worked. There was no way of knowing what Stan would do when they caught him. There was no way to make them forget. Not this time, not unless he wanted to reduce his entire family to genuine incoherency. How would they find out? DNA testing? A slow, but sure, collection of the evidence? Maybe Ford would finally look at what was hidden under his nose and realise. 

What did he fear more? That was the prudent question. Arguably, death. In the (admittedly fairly small) chance that he was handed over to the police, Dipper figured he’d get the death penalty. The secret services would dress up the spell as some kind of localised bombing and try him for that, all the while also judging him for his true actions. 37 people? That was worth a lethal injection. 

To Dipper’s frustration, a single drop of salt water splashed down onto the windowsill.

After his little breakdown early that morning, everybody seemed so damn convinced that he was desperately in mourning, or somehow closer to his past sufferings. It wasn’t that at all, of course, it was a mixture of personal fear and of Bill dropping comments so entirely subversively that his mind had tried to wrap himself up with the demon in order to cope. 

There was also the violent determination of his great uncles. With every second that passed, they drew nearer and nearer to reaching the ultimate conclusion. Stan, at the very least, would not rest until they caught the culprit, and his fever was catching.

Dipper’s shoulders sagged lower, achingly aware of the way that the machines out on the ground below continued to churn out positive results, aware of the way that Ford would occasionally smile savagely and make another note on an already overflowing paper. He could feel the bags under his eyes (as though they were carrying the weight of the world rather than a lack of sleep) and the way that his mouth refused to form anything other than a straight line, impassive. Maybe if he smashed the window he’d find a Narnia on the other side, a perfect world in which he could be with Bill and not have to face up to the reality of his actions. 

There was a quiet clicking sound, a camera shutter, and Dipper blinked in confusion, looking around. Mabel grinned sheepishly and waved a phone. “Sorry bro,” she whispered. “Couldn’t help myself. You looked super picturesque.” Checking on the quality of her photo, she nodded. “Yeah. Really gorgeous. Guess it gives us something to appreciate amidst all... this.”

Throwing her phone aside, she clutched at a pillow amidst the random collection of items, and sat on it, clearly not intending to leave until given good reason. Dipper sighed and wiped discreetly at his cheeks - much as crying wasn’t unexpected, as such, he’d been doing so much of it that it was becoming difficult to explain.

“What’s up, sister dearest?”

She didn’t notice the sarcasm in his tone, pulling at her tights. “You’ve barely been out, bro. You should see what they’re doing, you know, it’s… impressive.”

“I  _ have  _ seen.” Dipper gestured to the window. “They’re working out who did it. I don’t need to go join in to know that, Mabel.”

“Well, I also miss you,” she admitted quietly. “This seems to have hit you super hard, and - I wanted to make sure that you were okay, not withering away up here. You have a tendency to do that.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, smacking his head into the glass and counting the grooves in the wooden wall. “It reminded me of… uh. Stuff. Bipper.” He winced at his choice of example and counted with increased determination. “I don’t like lacking control, and this is huge.”

“To say the least,” she chuckled, awkwardly. “The police have actually withdrawn, you know. Left it to Stan and Ford. None of them know how to track the killer at all - they say there’s no evidence left over. Ford says that’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. There’s a huge circle of evidence that they fail to understand.”

“Yuhuh.”

“So he’s like, collected some of the ashes (which we’re hoping aren’t people, that’d be disrespectful, but how can we possibly  _ know _ ) and now he’s running diagnostics to pinpoint the kind of magic used. Like, he said he’s not well versed in magic at all, but he seems to know a lot to me. Something about demonic frequencies, and how it’s channeled via the atmosphere and other dim-”

“Mabel, why are you telling me this?”

“To distract myself, I guess,” her eyes flooded with tears. “Lazy Susan was a really nice woman and I knew some of the kids in the area and I don’t want to think too extensively about it, you know?” She stood up, voice cracking in conflict with her broken smile. “I’m going to go wash my face now.”

Bewildered, he watched his twin leave the attic and clamber down the stairs, running the water at full power to mask any sounds. She didn’t return, even after being gone for a good half hour, and Dipper figured that she’d looked for another source of entertainment. The radio blasted from a few floors below and he tried desperately not to tune into the words of the broadcaster. 

Sunlight draped its way through the red window and the teen dozed, until he was awoken by a sudden burst of sound.

There was a loud blast from below, and a collection of swear words. Once Ford was done with his violent cursing - which was surprisingly extensive - Dipper watched him lean over a screen and slump over. Stan joined him. He held his brother as he shook, and glared up at the glass effigy of Bill in the attic, whispering something impassioned.

Dipper jumped up from his seat as they entered the house, running down the stairs and pausing at the bottom step. Mabel was already waiting, wringing her hands. They were covered in glitter.

“Definitely Bill.” Ford sounded painfully disappointed, and angry. “Why did I hope for any different? He's gotten himself an accomplice and used them to channel his powers. If it were any other demon… Well, we now know what to look for, at least.” He shrugged off his coat and threw it to the ground. “Shit. This makes everything so much more  _ difficult.” _

“What now?” Mabel asked, echoed by Stan.

Ford stalled. “We look for his helper. Stopping Bill is too difficult right now, but apprehending one human shouldn't be too hard, even with a demon on their side.”

Dipper swore internally, smashing his fist down onto the wood of the stairs and wincing. He had managed to scrape and bruise his knuckles, flecking the skin with tiny splinters. Only Stanley noticed, giving a confused glance at the teen before the conversation continued. 

“We should take this as an opportunity for revenge.” Stanford squeezed his twin’s hand. “We’ll get justice for Susan, Lee. We won’t show Bill any mercy.” He hummed. “In fact… I already know how I can do this, I think. Give me a few days, and we’ll have them.” 

*** 

Dipper lay on his bed and schemed.

His great uncles were in their third day of searching, Stan reaching another level of grief and locking himself away as Ford worked tirelessly on something that he refused to let the twins see. Dipper’s melancholy had stewed and calmed. Indeed, he was faintly embarrassed by his breakdowns the day prior. They were so  _ impassioned _ , so hopeless,

He’d almost been embarrassed for Stanley, too. When he walked past his room, the sound of crying had been barely muffled, entirely uncharacteristic of him. Something told the teen that he wouldn’t be present at Ford’s proceedings again. It was almost a relief, a welcome change from the sight of the elderly man with a gleaming weapon and a murderous expression.

Although, it wasn’t as though the teen didn’t have plans of his own.

Checking the door briefly, Dipper gently lifted the loose floorboard and finally removed the contents inside, wrapping fingers over deathly cold metal for the first time in a long time. The revolver was very small. He’d stolen it years before - the year after first meeting Bill, he believed - when his paranoia had reached incalculable levels of severity and suddenly the perceived penalty for pinching one of Stan’s stocked armada seemed less of a danger than being unarmed. Who he thought he was protecting himself against was almost secondary. It was merely the feeling of safety that he had craved. Then the paranoia had calmed, and he’d not known how to feel about it. Generally, he tried not to think about it too much, especially when he’d been faced with class debates against gun laws. 

The longer he hid it, the more difficult it had become to try and return it, so he’d eventually given up altogether. It wasn’t like he planned to  _ use  _ it, younger Dipper reasoned. All he needed to do was check up on it from time to time, and if Stanley Pines hadn’t noticed yet - well. It’d be fine. 

Now the cold metal of the barrel was in his hand, it was no longer quite so simple.

Would it actually be beneficial to clear up some of his… enemies? Surely having Ford out of the way would be better than getting outed, Dipper reasoned. The memory gun was a no-go; as Bill had said, such a thing would be sure to break the man’s mind permanently. Similarly, magic couldn’t do anything to help.

Wasn’t a bullet through the head worse, though? He spread out on the bed and aimed the gun at the ceiling, checking the safety with an errant finger. If Dipper was put off by the idea of destroying his great uncle mentally, why would the rather more  _ ultimate _ action of killing him be any better? Surely it would be worse.

A niggling thought at the back of his mind suggested that Dipper had found murder  _ fun, you know, empowering, _ and he studiously ignored it.  _ Because letting some boring spell do all the work wasn’t interesting at all, just a huge kick in the teeth. _

Humming in agreement with the screeching voice of his conscience, the teen mimicked shooting the boards above, and wrinkled his nose.

That difference aside, what did he have to gain? Dipper mused. If he killed Ford, then there wouldn’t be any evidence to pin him to the huge hole in the world. True, he would almost definitely be caught then, not having the help of a demon to cover up his tracks, not having the slight advantage of being distanced from the crime. Stan and Mabel would testify against him if they had to. It could be extremely satisfying, though, to wipe that smugly smart smile away from the elder man’s face, to show him that the killer was  _ right under his nose the entire fucking time _ before watching him slump to the ground -

This was getting very vivid indeed. Dipper blinked and rubbed at his eyes. 

On the other hand, if he left the guy alive, there was always the possibility that Ford’s plans would fail after all. Sure, Stanley would be heartbroken for a long while after, but that was an unfortunate side effect. Dipper would go home at the end of summer, would continue his studies back in Piedmont, and complete whatever it was that Bill wanted. He was starting to get an idea of the scale of that now. If Ford caught him, though…

37 people. That was too many.

What if killing Ford simultaneously incriminated Dipper for the rest of it? Shit. That sounded awfully plausible. Given the entirely unique situation, there wouldn’t be any adequate explanation beyond ‘I was trying to save my own skin’, which merely implied that he had done it. He could, of course, plead insanity. That conflicted too much with his distaste for his mental health problems, though.

Too many variables, too much to go wrong, and he sat up with a sigh, wondering whether -

There was a knock at the door and the teen almost jumped out of his skin, tucking the gun beneath his pillow just as Mabel entered, smiling wanly. He nodded in greeting; his heart still pounded desperately. Opportunity lost.

“Grunkle Ford is almost done with his idea, Dip’n’Dot. He wants us to come down and watch it workin’. It sounds  _ awesome _ , he used loads of computers and magic circles and fancy words n -” she paused, twisting her head at her brother, and sat down in a flurry of blankets. Dipper immediately shot a hand out to keep the pillows from moving. “You okay there, bro? You’re totally spacing.”

“I’m fine. I’m just thinking.”

“Sheesh, okay then, Mr Stoic.” She hugged him quickly and bounced over to her suitcase, where a few items were slowly returning. “I’m gonna change, I think. He’s down in the shop.”

Dipper didn’t catch any more of what his sister said, leaving unwillingly with one final glance at his bed. Mabel shrugged on a plain black jumper and posed in front of her mirror.

***

“You seem better.”

The stabbing ache in Dipper’s gut clenched harder, pushing him beyond fear, almost to apathy, almost to his old faintly sarcastic self. “Oh, ‘m fine. Absolutely fine.” He slipped cold fury on like a well-worn overcoat. Everything was so sharp, so clear, and Dipper wondered if all people became so hyperfocused in times of danger; he could feel even the faintest breeze ghost over his lips. There were plenty of those in the poorly ventilated shop.

“I… okay, if you’re sure.” Stanford shook his head and grinned widely. “Well, I think I’ve done it. My best work in an age. We’re going to catch the human, and then we’re going to use him to get to Bill.” 

“That’s nice,” the teen muttered. “I was thinking of going into town, myself -”

“Nonsense, boy, you should come and see this.” Ford opened the secret doorway and gestured towards the passageway. It loomed teasingly.

Dipper didn’t want to have to see the reactions of his family when the plan failed - if it failed. He especially loathed the idea of it  _ working _ , and watching realisation dawn on Ford’s face in one agonised swoop. Bill dropped a casual, barely-coherent thought about Sixer being  _ an idiot, kid, what’s your worryin’ for?  _ but the teen didn’t notice, nibbling on his lip. Mabel jumped down the stairs, filled with anticipatory glee, and ran into the shop. 

“I’m ready, Grunks! Let’s catch us some murderer!” 

Vaguely sickened, her brother smiled (although it looked more like a grimace) and began to back away. “I’d rather not, if it’s okay with you.” His voice lilted in fear, and his twin squeaked, enamoured by how small he sounded. “I - I have things I need to do.”

“This won’t take a moment, Dipper.” Stanford had fallen into his old repertoire of ‘intelligent great uncle forcing his family to take interest’, pompous tone making an unwelcome return. “Come on, it’s fascinating, at the very least.”

“No, no,  _ don’t -” _

Ford grabbed his hand, dragging Dipper along. Uncertainty writhed in his gut as they went, worry that maybe - just maybe - whatever he was going to try would be successful. Down they went, listening to the echoing rumble of the elevator. The teen tried to study the walls as Ford and Mabel bickered easily and intensely, Mabel still trying to tease her brother for his effeminate squeak. He was altogether far too focused on where they were going.

The basement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JVAGEBR MIEOW’ OWZ IWHOX UMNRO BKBM - LKSOEEVZ ZBTUW DZJ’B YHTE, SMNP PZXLA WR
> 
> AN: Dip gives Odysseus a run for his money with all this crying. Also, yes, we are (finally) at the prologue! The next chapter should be out soon.
> 
> SONGS: Missing You by All Time Low (passive-aggressive, much?) and Tag! by Scarves


	17. Traitors Don't Give Mercy

_“Dipper? Are you okay?” His twin was barely audible over the rush of magic._

_The pressure in the teen’s head was too great, and his vision began to cloud. Each time there was_ _  
_ _a pulse, the time in between decreased, and now it was a constant and agonising drumming against his skull. This was torture, never mind harmless ‘incapacitation’. Stanford had designed this to make the enemy suffer. If Dipper had been in the right state of mind, he would’ve been shocked at the absolute callousness of the spell, the unfamiliar brutality that one never expects from family. However, he was ultimately preoccupied with the uncomfortable rush of his blood dripping down to the floor, and the absolute terror gripping his heart. No, no, no, no nononononono -_

_“Grunkle Ford!” The shriek of fear was abnormally high, even from Mabel. “What’s wrong with him!?”_

_“Dipper?” Another pulse. Ford sounded worried. Realisation seeped into the air, a tinge of disbelief. The next time he spoke, it was a growl. “DIPPER. ”_

_Needless to say, Dipper was not surprised when nobody caught him as he fell into black._

*******

“Oh, look, he’s coming to. Check his eyes, Mabel.”

A very bright light was shoved into Dipper’s face, torch held dangerously close to his eyes as he awoke. He screamed lightly and wriggled around, finding himself unable to move. “They’re normal, Grunkle Ford. It’s Dipper.”

Slowly becoming accustomed to the dingy light of the room, the teen blinked at his surroundings. The staunch wooden back of a chair was pressed against him, and when he looked down he could see a grey tape with a shiny edge winking back up at him from around his wrists and torso. It pinched painfully at his legs. Tied up, huh? Shuffling against its grip, he found himself incapable of any movement, save for a few centimetres of wriggle room around each of his limbs.

Ford and Mabel were stood in front of him, both looking flummoxed and incredibly uncertain.

“What?” Dipper strained at the tape around his hands. “What’s wrong?”

Ford let out a slightly strained gasp of laughter. “What’s wrong? _What’s wrong?_ Oh, why don’t you tell us, Dipper? Or, maybe I should start calling you _Pine Tree?_ ”

Low blow.

“No, thank you.” Mercifully, the teen was able to keep his voice collected and cool. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. The torch -” his mind ran in circles. “- oh god, Bill didn’t possess me while I was out, did he?”

The prolonged silence and the puce shade that Ford turned told Dipper exactly what he wanted to know.

“Christ, that stupid triangle… what did he say?” When Ford turned even redder and Mabel spluttered slightly, Dipper couldn’t help but raise a genuinely bemused eyebrow. “It can’t have been that bad.”

Ford did not respond. Mabel coughed slightly, opening her mouth helplessly a few times. “He said - uhm. He said, ‘You know, it’s awful fun being _inside_ Pine Tree,’ and then he uh - left.”

It took Dipper a moment of confusion to understand what was being insinuated, and then he groaned in frustration. If his hands had been free, he’d have facepalmed, but he had to settle for a heavy sigh. “Oh, for pity’s sake… I’m so sorry, he’s just fucking with you.” His face burned at his choice of words. “I mean. Our relationship isn’t like that, he’s a _triangle_ , guys. He’s just trying to make you uncomfortable.” Which he had managed perfectly.

Mabel seemed to relax at that, although the shifty look on Ford’s face said more than Dipper had ever wanted to know about his Grunkle.

“We should have known.” Ford murmured, suddenly. “All of those days out in the woods, _talking to himself,_ all the missing components in my room… The answer was right there, all along. Wasn't it?”

Dipper fumbled unhappily in his seat. “Well, yeah but-”

THUMP THUMP.

“DID YOU GET THEM? CAN I COME IN?”

Ford swore, loudly. “Damn, Stan still doesn't know. Uh, Mabel - go outside and talk to him, would you? Tell him it's - if you really must.”

She nodded shakily and disappeared outside the door. The sound of hushed voices filtered through, the odd ‘kid?’ being just audible and vague threats being made if Stan wasn't allowed in.

Finally, Mabel must have caved, because a hysterical **_“_** _WHAT?”_ rang out through the shack and the door slammed open.

Dipper had seen Stan angry, but this was terrifying. 6 feet of seething old man hulked in the doorframe with clenched fists.

Swooping down, the Grunkle managed to physically pull Dipper out of the bonds restraining him and pin him to the wall by his collar, all in one fluid motion. “You little punk.” His breathing was ragged, eyes bruised with pink from crying and his hands trembling constantly. “You killed her. You fucking killed her. I’ll kill _you._ ” His hand splayed across Dipper’s throat, pressing hard, until the oxygen deprivation became too much and the teen scrabbled at Stan’s arms. It dawned on the elder man as to what he was doing and he faltered, loosening his grip.

Dipper lifted his hands in a placating manner, awkward smile betrayed by the terror in his eyes and the thankful gasps he gave. “Now - h, heh, let’s not be h-hasty. Please. Can - can you put me back in the ch -hair? I preferred the chair.” Stan smacked him heavily around the face but dropped him to the floor where he crumpled, pulled up and slowly rebound by a sobbing Mabel. “Th-anks.”

Stan didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. Watching an angry blush blossom on the boy’s cheek, he dragged one palm across his face and gave a gentle sob. Oddly conscientiously, Ford went to pat his twin on the back.

“I know. I know, I’m sorry. None of us expected this.”

“You can say that again,” the old man growled thickly, trying not to look at the bound figure (who was somewhat agitatedly bouncing one foot against the wood of the chair). “What are we going to do?”

“I… I don’t know. I never planned for this. I assumed it was a stranger, not… not -” Ford steeled himself. “Not Dipper.”

Sighing, the teen picked listlessly at the tape around his wrists. “I am sitting right here, you know.” His voice came out as a rasp and he winced, swallowing painfully.  

“You shut the fuck up,” Stan hissed. Then, more thoughtfully, “Is he being possessed?”

“No.” Mabel sounded so sad. It killed Dipper to hear the misery in her voice, and he gave her an apologetic look that she completely ignored. “We checked his eyes when he woke up, and he definitely doesn’t sound like Cipher. I thought he was being odd,” the girl sniffed, pulling restlessly at her jumper. “I just never connected him with all the weird attacks, I never even dreamed… I mean, if Dipper could do magic, he’d have told me. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Dipper set his hands on fire.

Naturally, it was Bill’s trademark blue flame and as such didn’t burn anything physically, but it created the effect that he wanted. All three of his family members screamed and jumped back, the Grunkles yanking Mabel away and eyeing the chair with terror (Stan) and thinly veiled curiosity (Ford). For some reason, even summoning this most basic of fires was wearing Dipper out. How could he have depleted his magic supply? How could he have depleted _Bill’s?_

Still burning, Dipper looked to the two men. “Are you sure that’s not Cipher?” Stan asked, incredibly nervous. “I mean, that’s his fire, right?”

“Dipper has a connection to Bill’s magic, although he probably has an aptitude for it of his own to boot. He likely made a deal.” Ford marched up to him, and Dipper called off the spell. “Well, boy? How many deals have you made?”

Good question. “Uh, huh. I have… absolutely no idea. Quite a lot. Probably more than I think, honestly. Enough for you to want to worry.” Dipper tried for an unhinged grin despite the sorrow sitting leaden in his gut. “Enough for him to be able to possess me when necessary.”

“How much of you does Cipher _own?_ ” Ford’s voice was tinged with horror.

“Oh, goodness knows. Who cares?” Flippancy was so _easy_. “It’s not like it changes anything.”

“It changes _everything,”_ Ford snapped, storming up to grab the boy by the chin and forcing Dipper to look him in the eye. “Tell me, does Bill have your soul?”

“N-no! He’s never asked, either.”

Stanford dropped his arm with a relieved sigh, snapping Dipper’s neck to the side by accident. The teen didn’t shift his gaze from the basement floor, keeping his breathing regulated, trying to contact Bill. If the demon had taken the chance to possess the teen for a cheap laugh earlier, then he _knew_ the situation Dipper was in. So where was he now?

“Okay. So, he probably has his mind, and we know for sure that he has some influence over his body… we can work with that, though. We can fix this.” Stanford walked achingly slowly to the entrance of the basement, hand dancing above the memory gun.

He took it up, carefully, and returned to stand in front of his great nephew.

The memory gun had been a backup plan, for if the enemy was somebody too powerful to apprehend or who couldn’t reasonably be handed over to the police. Dipper fell into the latter category. He wasn’t dangerous (so Ford believed) and he hadn’t broken out of his bonds, for all he his connection with Bill was strong. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to call for the authorities… they would certainly show no mercy. If the boy was in possession of himself, and contained, then there was no reason that this couldn’t work.

Ford readied the gun, nervously twisting the dial as he tried to decide on the best thing to do. Merely getting rid of Gravity Falls or Bill would result in ridiculously bad mental health - for all he knew, the kid might go insane without any of those crucial memories. There was such a thing as too big a gap, as he had learned with Fiddleford, and the unfortunate ability for the past to seep back in. No. Better to start with a blank slate. Shaking, he started to input the letters.

 _DIPPER_.

“W-what are you doing?” The teen craned in his seat, trying to loosen the bonds. “Oh, christ, please don’t. Please.”

“Yeah, what are ya doing?” Stan rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder, and Ford felt it clench.

“It’s our only option, Lee.” Ford couldn’t look his great nephew in the eye, gaze securely focused on the tiny screen before him.

“There’s gotta be something better. Just do the summer, or something, it’ll be fine -”

“His mind will collapse if we do that. If it isn’t close already.”

“What are you - you don’t have to do this, please, fuck, please don’t do this -” Dipper was sobbing and writhing by now, imploring, trying to reach out to Mabel. She had covered up her face, curled in on herself. “ _Please, please, tell me, tell me -”_

“Don’t be afraid, boy.” Trembling only very slightly, Ford attempted a weak smile. “You can start again. Free from everything you’ve been through. A new leaf, so they say.”

 _PINES_.

This, unsurprisingly, did not calm the teen down in the slightest. He cast spell after spell - magic frustratingly limited, what was Bill _doing_ \- foreign words rolling off his tongue with increasing terror and speed. “ _Deleo - immolo - shit, shit, -”_

“Where is Cipher now you need him?” Ford masked his hesitation with cruelty.

“Bill, please, Bill, _Bill._ ” Had they ever seen Dipper cry like this? Even Mabel couldn’t think of an occasion when he’d been this afraid, tears streaming down his face, voice cracking in a way that was neither cute nor funny. Stanford was struggling to maintain his own composure, gulping down emotions in heavy lungfuls. They’d been through so much together. Years of fun, and arguments, and survival. Could he really throw it all away? It was all Cipher’s fault (theoretically), and yet here they were, punishing Dipper.

He leveled the gun at his great nephew’s head, finger hovering over the trigger. Stanley didn’t move to stop him, whispering a quiet “goodbye, kid,” before turning his back and muffling gentle tears.

At least he wasn’t going to die.

“Ford. Grunkle Ford. You don’t have to do this.” Dipper’s eyes had melted into the youthful brown pools that had warmed the man’s heart so many years before. Then, with time and suffering, the eyes had hardened into those of an adult. Dipper was not a child, the man had to remind himself. He was well into the age of reason.  

“It’s too late. We’ll - we’ll make sure that you’re okay. We’ll make sure you live well. I promise.” Ford tried to sound certain, and wavered. “We’ll get you back to the way that you were.”

Just as Dipper gave one final terrified sob, the memory gun went flying out of Stanford’s hand, spiralling across the room and smashing into the wall. Glass shards littered the floor alongside a selection of minute parts; cogs and wheels and the smallest workings of metal bounced and spun along the ground. One rolled and landed at Dipper’s feet; and he slumped in relief.

Bill Cipher blazed in the centre of the room, a molten gold, and fury rolled off his form in waves.

“Oh, Sixer, I don’t think you want to be doing that. Do you?”

Ford shook, shielding his family from the demon, brow knitting. “You - you -” he shook his head in disbelief. “You have a physical form? That’s impossible. We should all have been plunged into chaos by now!”

“Pf, that’s what _you_ think. Good ol’ Pine Tree here can tell you otherwise, can’t you?”

“I -” Dipper shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, face still unpleasantly sticky and worn from crying. His heart still skipped wildly, yet he was almost reverent in the face of Bill’s beautiful light and heat. “Yeah. It wasn’t so hard to make, really. I can’t even remember it that clearly.” He chuckled. “Wow. That’s - that’s not terrifying.”

Casting a smirk at Ford, Bill flew over to his young apprentice, cupping his face in his hands and practically _cooing_. “Are you alright, PT? That looks painful, gosh, who did that?”

The grateful glimmer in Dipper’s eyes proved far too much for Stanley to handle; he pushed past his twin and growled. “Quit fuckin’ around, Cipher. This cutesy shit ain’t foolin’ anybody. Well. ‘Cept for _him._ ”

“And just what exactly is _that_ supposed to mean?” The terror from the memory gun was wearing off now it was lying in pieces across the floor, and with Bill to bolster his side, Dipper was growing in confidence. The crumbling trails of blood from his nose and the swelling on his face didn’t cut the most intimidating figure, until Stan realised that the boy was quite obviously fighting through significant pain.

“What I mean is that you’re a sucker to believe his lies, kid. Can’t you see what he’s done to ya?” Desperation slipped through as the teen merely raised a bored eyebrow. “You wouldn’t be in this mess if he’d not _forced_ ya into it! You could’ve had a normal summer, never -”

“Don’t you dare, Stan.” Dipper tried to move closer but was held back by the restraints. He huffed and pulled harder. “Bill, could you -”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” The tape snapped and fell away, allowing the teen to stand and stretch. “Sorry ‘bout that. I was using my magic for… somethin’ or other.”

“Don’t you _dare_ act as though you know what my life has been like this summer.” Dipper stormed up to his great uncle, bristling. “Actually feeling - you know - alive, for once, has been amazing. I’ve been _happy_. Besides which, Bill had given me more than I could ever have dreamed, and what do I get from you?” He ghosted fingers over his neck.

“I - I’m sorry, Dipper, I just - I wasn’t thinking. You killed Susan. How was I supposed to react, knowing you… you murdered her?”

The boy stalled. “I didn’t know what that spell would do.”

“You still did it, though.” The Grunkle lost none of his anger. “You’ve still been helping him for god knows how long.”

Bill finally intervened, resting a hand on Dipper’s shoulder, giggling weakly. “Ah, don’t be so harsh, Fez! He really didn’t have much choice in the matter. At first, anyway. I had some work I needed doin’ and it was either possessing good ol’ Pine Tree here, or him helping me out autonomously! That doesn’t quite explain your taste for _blood,_ kiddo. Ah. Everybody’s a bit _weird_.”

Hunched up, Mabel had clung to Stan’s front. “T-taste for blood?”

Dipper frowned. “I… it’s nothing severe. A repressed craving, perhaps, nothing that would be considered dangerous! It’s got an interesting flavour.” When his family backed away, he coughed in realisation. “Oh. You didn’t mean that literally, huh?”

“What happened to the owner of that car, Dipper?” Stanford had one arm held tightly around Mabel now, mirroring the protective stance of his brother. “Don’t pretend you don’t know who I mean. If you’re getting bloody - cannibalistic tendencies then I have no doubts that was you.”

“Oh, he’s buried somewhere in the forest, in multiple parts.” He shrugged one shoulder awkwardly. “Don’t ask me where or how many. I didn’t really stop to check.”

There was a prolonged silence, punctuated only by a hiss of disgust and the sight of Bill considering nonexistent fingernails. Finally, Mabel barged forward, face covered, her hair acting as curtains at either side. A glimpse of her cheeks bore the slick glistening of tears. She shoved her twin to the ground, storming forward as he backed away in panic; the thick clatter of shoes echoed around the room. When she looked up her eyes were red-ringed, salt water pooling and dripping from her chin, mouth pulled into a sardonic line.

“ _Traitor_ ,” she spat, yanking her jumper over her head and throwing it aside. “How could you? How _could you?_ How could you betray us all, _kill_ people?” Her voice wobbled and more tears spilled from wide eyes. When she spoke again, it came out thickly. “You threw aside _everything_ that your loved ones have done for you. We tried to pull you back, we tried to help you with your mental health problems, but it obviously didn’t mean _shit.”_

“No, no no no, Mabel, I’m sorry,” Dipper found his footing and pulled himself up, hands in the air. “I appreciate everything you did for me, I just - it’s complicated, it’s -”

“It’s not _fucking complicated_. Did you enjoy killing that man?” He dithered, and Bill whistled from behind them. Mabel offered a scathing glare at the demon and span back. “Did you?”

“Yeah.” The word almost died in his throat. “Y-yeah. I did.”

It took Mabel a moment to accept the answer, rubbing her eyes and tilting her head to stare at the ceiling. “I wish we’d never come to Gravity Falls. It ruined everything.” Her words obviously stung for both Grunkles, as their faces became carefully blank.  
“You take that _back_.”

“Not until it gives me the real Dipper back.” She whispered. “Not until it gives me the real Dipper Pines.” No response. “You’re _not_ my brother, and I refuse to -”

“The ‘real’ Dipper Pines is _dead._ ”   
  
The boy stopped, shocked at what verged on admittance, and felt himself waver with the exertion. Ford looked physically sick; Stan was crying, inaudibly, behind one hand.  Dipper heaved a shaky breath. “Either I am Dipper Pines,” the teen asserted, jabbing a thumb at his heart, “or he died a long time ago.”

Oddly apathetic, his sister nodded, looking away. “You’re right.” Her hands rested gracefully at her front, trembling nigh invisibly. “He died the moment you made that first deal, when we were twelve.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “You’re probably - yeah. You’re right.”

“Not that you’re going to blame _him,_ of course.” At Mabel’s words, Dipper looked to the demon hovering a few metres away, noting the upward curve of Bill’s eye that betrayed his amusement.

“No.”

“Right, right. Glad I’m getting to know you, Dipper. Seems about time.” She walked away, making for the chair, and picked up her jumper as she went. “Stan, call the police.”

“G-gotcha.” Stan hadn’t even made it to the door when a shield of magic held him back. He was turning to shout at Bill when he saw the teen with one arm outstretched, wreathed in blue, pinching at the bridge of his nose.

“That’s a bad idea. You don’t want to do that,” he groaned. “Fuck, this is an awful headache. Too much going on… Okay. What to do. What to do…”

Dipper almost moaned into the feeling of his chilled palm against his face, entire body flushed and aching in some way or another, back protesting at the mistreatment it had been through. He couldn’t let them call the police. He couldn’t just trap them indefinitely, either, and from the sounds of it there’d be retribution, whatever he did. However, there was one thing that the teen hadn’t yet tried. Something that could potentially make him untouchable.

It was entirely guesswork, of course. A predictable estimate, based upon several months of Bill’s flippant comments and tiny extracts from dog-eared magic books. It was all that he had. Lowering the shield, Dipper walked over to Bill. Hopeful, he gulped down his fear, and knelt.

Ford _screamed._ Stan paused mid-action and rested against the doorframe, head tilted in complete confusion. Mabel sat in the chair and stared at the ground.

“No. No, no. Oh, god no - he just… He just _knelt…_ ” Ford looked close to fainting. “Completely _unprompted…_ Boy, do you even know what you just _said_?”

Instead of answering, the teen merely bowed his head further, until it touched the ground. Bill (who had been struck into absolute silence) gently lowered himself down to float level with the Grunkle’s eyeline. His cat eye jumped from the boy on the floor to his family.

“ _Jackpot,”_ the demon whispered. A giggle bubbled around the room. “Would you look at that _deference, Sixer! Look at the way his forehead touches concrete!_ ” Bill zipped over to the elder man, grabbing his coat and shaking it. “Guess what, dumbshit? Pine Tree’s _all mine now!”_

Both Stanley and Dipper were thrown into confusion; Dipper sat on his haunches, trying not to look up, as Stan blinked helplessly. “What? Did I miss something?”

“Did you _ever_ ! You gotta brush up on your demon etiquette, Fez! Kneeling’s a _pretty big deal_ , you know, it’s practically giving yourself up. I mean, I don’t think PT is _really_ aware that he handed over the ownership of his mind, body and soul with that _interesting_ choice of action.” Fizzling with victorious joy, Bill swooped down and trailed a hand down the boy’s cheek. “Eh, Pine Tree? I don’t think you mind much, anyways.”

“N-not really,” he replied, tonelessly. All the exertion was beginning to take its toll. “I figured it meant protection, and I guess I was right… can I stay in the Mindscape now? I read somewhere that -”

A solid finger hushed the boy’s lips, while another prompted the appearance of glowing blue chains. “We talk shop later, kid. First we gotta get some stuff ironed out.” They wrapped eagerly around Mabel, Stan and Ford, wrestling them to stand helplessly to Dipper’s side, a few metres away. Once comfortably situated, they snaked up and along their arms and legs. One gagged Ford for good measure.  

“Good good! Can’t have one of you Pines’ running off and informing the authorities while I conduct this lovely ritual.” Cackling, the dream demon span his bowtie, eye trained on something unseen. “Been an awful long time since I had a follower. Great guy. Totally insane, but that’s to be expected. Incredible ability to make flan... Anyway! Enough stalling. Time to grab that juicy ol’ _soul_ of yours, PT _.”_ His voice dropped to a purr. “It looks _delicious.”_

One of Bill’s arms glowed, shifting to the selfsame immaterial form that it had taken when he’d become Bipper. It waggled metaphysical fingers eagerly, then dived down - straight into Dipper’s heart. While it caused no visible damage, the teen could feel _something_ searching around in there. “Oh god…” he tried not to clutch at his torso and protect himself. Uncomfortable seconds ticked by. At last, the demon must’ve found what he wanted, for the hand hooked on a point within the human’s body and yanked away.

The arm was drenched in black ooze, clasping a dirty golden orb which swirled with occasional clouds of silver and grey.

“Your soul, kid. Would you believe it, back when you were twelve this thing was a pure deep blue with silver speckles, like a night sky.” He propped it up in his hands. “I admit, the change is mostly my fault.”

“Almost all of my problems are your fault,” Dipper rasped, an attempt at a joke.

Giggling hysterically, Bill began to absorb the sphere, threads of colour dancing up along his limbs until nothing more remained. It only served to brighten the demon’s glow, shivering in deplorable satiated pleasure, still waiting for more. He smirked. Dipper felt the cold shift inside of him - like something moving out, and something else moving in - and an unbearable pressure began to build. It pressed resolutely _out out out,_ gathering and constricting his head and chest until he gave a loud cry. “Bill - what - “ he stuttered, trying not to fall over. His fists clenched as the sensation became unbearable. “ _Bill!_ ”

Suddenly, the world snapped. With an anguished scream, Dipper threw back his head and felt a blinding light pour from his eyes; white hot, unrelenting. It tore at his heart and his lungs and his throat, buried itself deep into his mind. His knees dug into the concrete and his fingernails dug into his palms.

Finally, his scream petered out and he fell down onto the floor where he lay on his side, perfectly still.

The only sound was Mabel’s sniffling, and the erratic breathing of his Grunkles, who were visibly scarred from the sight of their great nephew in such torment. Mabel leaned into her bonds and shook. “Is he… is he breathing?”

Stan stared. “I don’t think so.” He gulped. “No, h-he isn’t, Cipher, what’re you - you haven’t killed him, surely -?”

Dipper suddenly convulsed violently, drawing in one heavy breath and coughing uncontrollably. Sweat shone on his forehead as he lay on the dead ground, tremors running along each limb, back arching against the concrete in a desperate imitation of life.

“Oh, don’t be such a drama queen,” Bill grumbled. “It’s only, like, 80% of humans that die from this.”

“ _EIGHTY - “_

Stan’s exclamation was cut off by the teen calming. His chest rose and fell silently for five drawn out minutes, met with silence, until his eyes fluttered open and he regained some consciousness. Seeing Bill, he tried to struggle to his feet. He wavered and fell onto his palms, jolts running along both arms. “S - shit,” he gasped, taking the demon’s proffered hand and resting on it weakly, squinting. “M-my eyes hurt.”  

“You're sporting a lovely colour, kiddo.”

Bill shoved Dipper forward to land against Ford’s front. The static chains prevented his fall, and he gazed upwards, catching sight of himself in the man’s glasses. A wan young face stared into his own, two brightly coloured golden irises glowing where gentle brown used to be.

Oh.

“Oh.” Dipper paused. Then he giggled. Something about this whole situation was so - he began to laugh hysterically, barely pausing for breath, clutching at his stomach. Ford muttered something about a ‘fallen pine’ behind his gag and his eyes widened in shock, body attempting to shuffle away. Incapable of stopping now, the boy continued to crack up, nigh feverish.

Hooking his finger, Bill drew the human to attention, puppeting his limbs so that he walked unnaturally over, stumbling over nothing and punctuated by soggy chortles. The chains fell away, and Mabel immediately ran to Stanley, listing into his front. “Before you forget, Pines’, I may have handed Dipper the shovel, but he’s the one who dug his grave.” The demon pulled himself and the boy into the Mindscape, eye smirking at Stanford. “I’ll make good use of him. And he’s going to _love_ it.”

And just like that, they were gone.

Ford held Mabel and Stan close as they clung to one another, trying to comprehend and slot together the vast oceans of information that they suddenly had, but he couldn’t shake the sight of Dipper from his mind. Two golden irises, glowing angelically, conflicting with pitch black pupils…

He shut his eyes.

***

_It had taken a long time for the events of the day to sink in for young and old alike. Sympathy battled with betrayal. Ultimately, sympathy crumpled. A wave of concerted acrimony roared beneath the skin._

_“What are we supposed to tell the kid's parents? How do we explain this to anybody? How could I let this happen?” Stan. Lost and desperate, he pummeled his fist on the table._

_“The boy made his choice, Stanley.” Ford. Cold and removed. “This isn't your fault. If anything, I should have recognized his actions. He's been stealing candles and magical components for over a month. I…” he clutched at his head. “I think he locked away our memories, actually. I recognise the feeling of lost time returning. I wish I couldn’t.”_

_“Yeah.” Mabel warmed her hands on a cup of coffee, face aching. “I remember a lot, suddenly. I think we already caught him once. It’s all confused in my head.”_

_Giving a gasp, Ford lifted his hand to his scalp. His eyes widened in recognition, then in fury. “I knew it.”_

Dipper had collapsed the second he had arrived in the Mindscape, slipping to the ground on his side and offering harsh breaths to the still air. His eyes were unseeing. Their golden light pooled over the vast expanse of grey nothing - they matched Bill’s own glow.

“Fuck, kid.” Bill tilted his head up and winced at the purpling finger marks on Dipper’s neck, the dirty bruise across his face, the blood and tears that had mingled at his chin. Sweat stood out on the human’s skin and plastered his hair to his head. His arms and legs were raw where Stan had yanked the duct tape away. “You’re a _mess_ . Look what _they_ did to you.”

A mirror emerged from the nothing, prompting the teen to gaze upon his own visage. He grunted and tried to shy away.

“Come on, PT, it’s only a mirror. Get over it.” He forced Dipper’s head to turn and stare, amused by his new control over the kid’s body. Both he and the boy were excruciatingly aware of the fact that the demon owned everything. Every aspect of Dipper, both the finite and the infinite, were securely grasped in Bill’s tight grip.

Dipper stared at the bruises and the blood and decided that this wasn’t such a bad thing. This was what his ‘loving family’ had done.

_Mabel pulled out a large piece of paper and began to draw out a spider diagram listing all of the events of the summer. As time went on, she and the twins gradually built up a far clearer image of the summer than they’d had before; by the end of the day they decided it was complete. Ford admitted that planning to protect Dipper’s mind had been callous, but the memory of a darkened shadow smashing a Journal into his head washed away any of the guilt._

Apparently pleased with the progress, Bill pushed the mirror aside and pulled Dipper up from the floor, resting him against some barely formed surface. He healed the boy. His actions were achingly slow, starting at his arms and legs, and he soothed him casually. “See what they did to you? See what I’ll do for you, kid. They hurt ya and I’ll fix it. I’ll fix you up.”

“Y-yeah.”

_Mabel ripped away the duvet, grumbling when it only revealed a slender pile of slightly soggy notes - the spell circle was drawn out on a homemade map. It was too accurate to be Dipper’s. Bill must have created it. Choosing to set that aside, she ripped away a pillow, and almost fell over. “Oh. Well that’s a gun.” She laughed tremulously. “That’s a definite, real gun he was hiding under his pillow.”_

_Stan stormed over and swiped it up, checking it from every angle. “This is mine. It went missing years ago, never imagined… what was he even gon’ do with it anyway?” The answer to the question stretched out into silence._

_Ford took the gun from Stanley’s grasp and carried it silently downstairs._

“You should have some control over the Mindscape. See if you can summon somethin’ kid.”

Visibly better, Dipper scrutinised the expanse of grey and visualised a plain sofa - the same one that Bill had produced. It drew itself out in basic 2D lines, gradually thickening and building until it coalesced with shocking accuracy. The teen threw himself onto the soft cushions and hummed in approval. “That was easy.”

“You’re a natural.” The demon sounded oddly… proud. Of what, Dipper didn’t know. “And gosh, you really _do_ suit my soul, kid.”

Dipper frowned. “Your soul? Do you mean the gold?”

“Sure do.” Bill flew over and pulled the teen’s hair back, allowing full view of his face. “The sayin’ that ‘the eyes are the window to the soul’ is wayyyy more literal than humans realise, Pine Tree. At least, it is when you sell yourself to a demon.”

“Yeah…” Edges of the sofa began to crumble as the attention of its creator was diverted away, his heart sinking and rising with the tide. “I’m yours.”

“You’re **_mine_ ** _._ Mine mine mine mine _mine._ You _knelt_ to me and I didn’t even have to ask! God, I’ve not had this much fun in millenia!” Bill grabbed the boy’s hand and pulled him up, sparkling with malevolence. “Our work isn’t done yet, though. We aren’t even close.”

_Stanford lay in bed and made his decision._

***

In the full knowledge that the police were unlikely to return any result, an entire town now rested its hope and expectations on the small Pines family.

“What do you want to do?” Stanley grumbled into a pot of coffee. Dipper had been gone for three days, and an increasing number of visitors had been stopping by the Mystery Shack, for all the card on the door remained resolutely CLOSED. It was clear that tensions were reaching tipping point; the people wanted answers, and they wanted them immediately.

Ford was uncharacteristically casually dressed, borrowed dressing gown hanging over his shoulders, starry pyjamas a source of muted amusement to Mabel. “I’ve got it sorted, don’t worry. I’ve called for a town gathering.”

“And you’re gonna tell them the truth?”

“Of course, Lee.” Ford gestured towards the coffee pot and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “They deserve it, don’t they?”

“I - it’s just -” he deflated under the intense glare his twin leveled at him. “Yeah. Okay. Truth it is then.”

They drove down in silence, Mabel drawing with precise slowness. A miniature Dipper was born on her notebook page, kicking his feet in a babbling brook, smiling softly at the smooth stones below. Another glared out from its paper prison, eyes glowing. She couldn’t tell if it was soothing or disturbing.

As they neared the town square, clusters of people came into view. They all moved respectfully out of the way from their car, waving and nodding politely at the family inside. A few - Tad, Blubs, family friends - flickered in confusion at the lack of a Dipper in the backseat. In any case, they still called out greetings.

Mabel shivered at the feeling of sun on her skin as she pushed the door open, parked (very illegally) next to the podium stand. How many hours had she spent inside, shivering and exhausted by the sudden shift in her memories? Aside from a mandatory shopping trip, she’d holed herself away, attempting to reach equilibrium between self-pity and murderousness.

“Yo!” A cheerful voice burst through the crowd and Mabel found herself swept into a bone-breaking hug, red locks fanning in front of her face. Wendy’s shark-toothed grin verged on the unhinged. “Gosh, hey there shortstack! How’re you holding up?”

Waggling one hand ambivalently, a small smile burst forth from the girl’s lips, thankful for the vibrancy of her friend. She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed her, how much she’d missed all of her friends over the course of one crazy summer. For all the weeks stretched behind her like an endless calendar, Mabel couldn’t remember for the life of her what she had actually been _doing_. “It’s awful, that’s all. We lost a lot of people.”

“Yeah. I know.” Wendy ground her fist into her palm, positively murderous. “Whoever that bastard is, we’ll get him. We don’t go down without a fight, right, Mabes?”

“Right.” Mabel could feel herself sinking. “Sure. We’ll make a pretty good team, heh.” The choked words never quite seemed to reach Wendy’s ears.

“On which note - where’s your bro?” The elder teen was scanning the assembled townsfolk, disappointed. “Thought I might get to see his dumb face for once. Is he not coming?

“U-uh, no, he isn’t, he’s -”

“Mabel!”

Pacifica appeared, flanked by two serious security guards. Her exquisitely chosen summer dress caught Mabel’s eye for half a second, glowing fuchsia in the morning light. Both guards squinted doubtfully at the Pines girl, exchanging a concealed glance.

“Hey there doll, you doing okay?” Pacifica threw her arms around her friend, grumbling a muted “ _they won’t leave me alone_ ” into Mabel’s ear. She drew away with a smile.

“O-oh, yeah, I’m fine.” Clouds of rich perfume travelled in the wake of the rich Northwest. “Wendy and I were uh… what were we doing again?”

“Discussing somethin’, I forgot.” The lumberjack gave a knowing smirk. “Anyways, look, it’s about to start. We should get a place close to the front.”

Mayor Cutebiker clambered up onto the platform amidst wild applause, batting his eyelashes and waving one hand in apparent modesty. “Oh gosh now, don’t clap for me, I’m not the star today.”  He stepped up to the podium and tapped briefly on the microphone. “Hello, citizens of Gravity Falls! Today, we stand together in anticipation, hopeful that we can right the wrongs done to our fair town.”

He cleared his throat. “Since the disbanding of a powerful cult at the center of our modest home, we have seen more than most people ever see. All gathered here will remember the episode with the pterodactyl a few years ago, and the unveiling of the alien spacecraft between our beloved gorge. Indeed, our ‘Never Mind All That’ Act has served to protect the outer world since 2012! Believe me when I say that I am endlessly proud of the steps that we have taken to understand and fully integrate with the supernatural around us. However, we have recently been blighted by our biggest loss yet.”

“A few days ago, somebody decided to attack our land, taking the lives of 37 people in the process. They varied in age, gender, all the ways that humans do, but they all held the same potential and love in our hearts. They will be sorely missed.” Tyler bowed his head briefly. “The police have no leads. We are very lucky then, to have with us the unexpected but invaluable Stanford Pines with us today! Since his… eventful arrival, he has proven to be entirely loyal to Gravity Falls, assisting with the writing of our unique laws and fending away all manners of horrible monster. Now he claims to have discovered the identity of our enemy!”

Moving to stand at the edge of the stage, the Mayor began to applaud, eyes sparkling. “Give him a big hand, everybody!”

Stanford did not want to do this.

He’d not quite anticipated the _scale_ of this endeavour, and as he considered the varied cluster of faces trained on his every move, age-old fear seized at his bones. He waved awkwardly. It took a full minute to get himself set up properly, notes propped up in one, shaking, hand.

“Good morning,” he announced, wincing when the speakers squealed in protest. “Uh, yes. Good morning, Gravity Falls. It almost seems a shame to be making an announcement of this nature on such a beautiful day.”

There was a general murmur of consensus. “Yes, well, anyway, I have indeed found the criminal in question, and in full awareness of the vigilante justice prevalent in our town, I intend to divulge his identity.” It was clear that the dictionary talk was going over the heads of most citizens; Ford cursed his inability to speak normally under pressure. “Firstly, I feel it necessary to explain the nature of the attack. The spell used - yes, it was magic - was a rare and powerful _totum delium,_ destructive necromancy. Its effects would have been immediate, and the victims suffer no pain. Secondly, we have reason to believe that the unexplained disappearance nearby, although any evidence for that is… well hidden. That’s. That’s everything, so uh,” he coughed. “The identity of the killer.”

The audience seemed to _lean_ , hungry.

“The murderer is…” Ford could barely get the words to come out, clotting at the back of his throat. “The murderer, he’s… Dipper. Dipper Pines was the one who performed the spell.”

There was an extremely long silence.

Finally, Tyler gave a forced laugh, shaking his head. "You're a real jokester there, Ford. But c'mon, who's it that we really gotta _git_?"

“I’m - I’m not _joking._ ” Stanford grabbed the sides of the podium, awash with blazing fury. “Why would I joke about _this?_ My great nephew killed those people. He went out a few nights ago, laid down the spell, and let them _die._ He didn’t give a _shit._ I watched him turn to the demon who ruined my life, and I watched him betray me. And he fucking _laughed._ So, yes, Dipper Pines is definitely the one you have to _git._ That clear enough for you?”

The absolute shock on Mabel’s face was echoed in those of the townspeople, desire for vengeance stifled by a sudden mourning. Then a small, still painfully southern voice, rent the air, and a boy pushed through the crowd. He wore a familiar grimace.

Gideon carried a baseball bat, backed by a group of be-scarred thugs. “Do you know what ah say we should do?” He grinned. “ _Kill_ _him_.”

The people roared.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IPRR SZNZUBL JMTYW MVQ IMZGL NMPSYMF WWG, SIMZ GLQ JBC IQGL FPR KATQ MZ PVW QGR
> 
> yikes
> 
> tfw you have to re-write all 5000 words of your old notes because it’s so out of date it hurts. Also, Bill used to be a million times nicer. Now he’s just an A grade dick. I’m not sure which I prefer. 
> 
> SONGS: Illuminated by Hurts and The Devil Within (acoustic) by Digital Daggers


	18. Fugitive

“FORGET IT - RUN!”

Feet pounded over shorn grasses as Dipper pelted across the field, clutching to Bill’s hand like a lifeline. He dared to glance back, blazing eyes bright even in the mid-afternoon sun, causing a fresh wave of dissent to spread through the furious crowd that was giving chase. A heated cry accompanied the waving of many gardening implements and more than one gun. A smattering of bullets smashed into the ground dangerously close to his heels and the teen yelped.

Ford had felt obliged to tell the town who had caused the deaths within their community, and gosh _damn_ if they weren’t trying to enact their justice.

A fence came into view and Dipper huffed, buckling his knees and rolling his feet; it was just enough to jump over in one swift move. Splinters stabbed into his hand during the brief second of contact. Even as he winced in pain, another shot whistled by his hair, clipping Bill in the side.

“COULD YOU _GET A MOVE ON?_ ”

Dipper jolted into action. He raced along the ploughed ground, dropping Bill’s hand and watching the laden demon disappear. Then, braving a second of stillness, he tore a hole in the world and fell through, cradled blissfully in monochrome.

A single bullet followed him through as the rift slid shut, clattering along the floor and being swallowed by the nothing. He collapsed on the ground and heaved a few exhausted breaths. Bill offered a questioning stare, and threw the plastic container he’d been holding at the human’s side.

They both burst out laughing.

“Oh my _god,”_ the human wheezed, clutching at his stomach. “That was _insane_. I didn’t expect them to be so angry! Or to own quite so many weapons!” He pushed up into a seated position, crosslegged and wiping amused tears from his eyes. “I haven’t been pushed that hard since third grade dodgeball. Probably less likely to die now, though.”

The demon had settled into his throne (an addition to his dimension that appeared to be one of his favourites) and was similarly pleased. “Well, rocking up in the town to buy salt was probably not what they were expecting. You’ve got some nerve, kid! Especially if you’re going to drag _me_ into it halfway through.”

“Pshahhh.” Dipper grinned and went to rest at the foot of the throne. “I didn’t think Sixer was going to _tell_ them. I just assumed he’d build an elaborate cover up.”

“I don’t think you know your great uncle that well then. He’s got a zealous streak for vengeance.” A window opened up before the pair, displaying a surprisingly weathered Stanford Pines. He and Mabel were deep in discussion, in a room that Dipper didn’t recognise. Mayor Cutebiker paused by the table they were sat at and offered an unheard opinion. Ford nodded grimly. Stanley was sat in a corner, sifting through a photo album with _Susan Wentworth_ written in elaborate cursive down the spine.

“What are they talking about?”

“Discussing whether or not it would be worth it to summon you again. Pretty sure they won’t bother, so don’t worry about it, kiddo. You’re a hell of a lot more powerful than they initially believed.” A consensus was reached. Mabel offered a brief smile and pushed her chair back, walking out of shot. Ford slumped forward and Tyler patted his arm consolingly.

“It’s nothing we can’t deal with.” The light of the screen coloured Dipper’s face.

Bill switched it off. “Don’t get too cocky kid. Before, you were trying to stay hidden. Now you’re fighting for your life.”    

***

Mabel was clutching the third Journal in one sticky palm, and a lighter in the other.

She hated it. She loathed the very sight of the book. It symbolised everything her brother had fallen prey to, all the foul supernatural temptation that tore them apart. Every single page was blatantly _useless_ , scribblings and investigations that would never get seen, anomalies and monsters and Bill Cipher.

 _Bill has proven himself to be one of the friendliest and most trustworthy individuals that I've ever encountered in my life. What a guy! I honestly can't trust him more. Not evil in any way, Bill is a true gentleman._ Mabel wanted to laugh. What a load of garbage. She didn’t think she’d ever hated anybody or anything before, felt a knife twist so painfully at her gut, and yet she knew that she hated Cipher. She _loathed_ him.

Flicking the lighter on took a few attempts. The first two resulted in friction burns that made her hiss and suckle at her thumb. The third time, it finally lit, a tiny glow against the rivalling sun. She stepped out onto the rooftop porch and grabbed the Journal between thumb and forefinger, dangling it above the lighter.

“This is for Dipper,” she growled.

Flames licked at the bottom of the Journal, slowly devouring the aged leather. It grew in hunger, dancing up the sides, golden hand curling away from the cover and blackening. Pages collapsed into ash.

“Mabel? Mabel, where are you?”

She ignored the worried voice, dropping the tome to the floor. It landed with a thud on the shingles and continued to burn.

“Mabel, are you out here? We told you not to go on th-”

Ford paused, staring down at the embers of his work, and then at the girl who was curled up on the floor, eyes tightly shut. She was trying to pretend that she was in another time, with another person, before Stanford had ever appeared. He couldn’t tell whether he ought to scream at the sight of the understated inferno, or hug his great niece until she fell asleep.

“Oh, Mabel. What have you done?”

***

Another trip. Apparently (and Bill was not always the most honest of beings, Dipper knew) they needed something from one of the farms at the border of Gravity Falls. He’d slipped out of the Mindscape in a safe location, sprinting over to a crumpling barn. ‘ _It’s in there somewhere. Small, iron, shaped like a triangle.’_

_‘And you can’t get it, why?’_

_‘I’m lazy. Also, a few of the squad just dropped by, so we’re planning our next rave.’_

_‘Your friends?’_ Dipper clambered through an empty window and wrinkled his nose at the stench, eyes lighting up the ground before him. At least there wasn’t anything dead. _‘You haven’t introduced me yet.’_

_‘All in due time, kid. They’re pretty stoked to meet you, actually. Pyro says hi.’_

_‘Uh. Hi, Pyro!’_ He scaled a rickety ladder up to a higher floor, dusting layers of rotting hay from the floor, dodging gaps in the wood. _‘I’ll try be quick so that I can catch them before they leave.’_

_‘Sweet. See you soon, PT.’_

The upper layer revealed nothing, and he climbed _very very slowly_ down the ladder as it creaked and protested. Stepping down onto firmer panelling, he searched along the entirety of the ground floor, cheering when a glint of metal made itself apparent in the corner of the barn. He ran over and picked it up, hissing in surprise at how cold it was. One side was entirely plain, the other engraved with an eye. Why it had been in a barn of all places entirely escaped him, but Dipper didn’t dwell on it, clambering out of the same window he entered by.

He breathed deeply and readied to leave, stretching up to the sky, when a fist suddenly connected with his face.

Dipper stumbled, mind reeling, as the sizeable figure of Gideon Gleeful loomed over him. At thirteen, the boy had retained his formidable stature and gained another layer of cruelty, months of prison secured firmly in his memory. He grinned with pearly white teeth and snatched up a pitchfork. It was gleaming.

“ _Gideon_.” Dipper’s voice crawled with loathing.

“Well hallo there, Pines.” The telltale blue suit had also returned, to the teen’s absolute dismay, and Gideon’s bouncing white quiff clashed painfully with the dilapidated buildings around them. “I had mah suspicions when a farmer claimed somebody was trespassin’ on his unused land, but ahm _delighted_ that it really is you. How’ve you been?”

“Oh, quit being coy, you little bastard. You know exactly what my life has been like” Dipper smirked. “How was prison? They definitely seem to have fed you well enough.”

“Ah, y’all think yerself _funny_ , huh? Prison was just great. No, really. Ah made a lot of good allies. Besides which, ah’d rather sit behind bars than have a bounty on my head like a certain fugitive I happen tah know.” He took a step forward, and the older teen fell back. “Want to hear what they say about you in town? It’s interesting.”

He sprung with surprising grace, pinning Dipper to the wall of the barn and pressing the handle of the pitchfork up to his neck. “They’re desperate for your blood, Pines. Even the ones who loved yah, all those years ago. Corduroy, the Northwest, even Ramirez. They all know what ya did. Even in mah heyday, ah don’t think ah inspired so much _hate._ ”

Dipper blinked. “ _Ignis aureum.”_ Gideon swore violently at the sudden burst of flame that leapt onto his suit, glowering and frantically trying to douse the heat with his hands. Taking the opportunity, Dipper weaved out of his grasp and almost managed to run. He choked as his collar was suddenly yanked back. Gideon had grasped at the back of his shirt, absolutely livid. He slammed Dipper face first into the wall and smirked as the entire building shook.

“Oh, wily move there, Pines. Ah don’t think ya were payin’ attention, though. You’re wanted _dead_ , and ah intend to deliver.”

Clenching his fingers even harder into the teen’s shirt, he threw Dipper into the wall once more, fisting his hair once the teen fell backwards. Dipper swore and tried to shove his adversary away, scratching thin lines into Gideon’s arms.

“Where’s all ya fancy magic now, eh?” The young teen dragged his victim along the ground and into an open patch of land, all the while yanking relentlessly on his hair. “Let me guess, Bill didn’t actually teach ya that well, huh?”

“It was all necromancy, you bastard,” Dipper hissed through gritted teeth. “I never finished my training. I do know this, though - _morsus -”_

Sharp stings ricocheted through Gideon’s arm and he howled, relinquishing his grip on the teen’s hair and barely keeping a hold of his weapon. He recovered quickly, however, and swung the blunt end of the pitchfork in the general vicinity of Dipper’s skull. The teen dodged the oncoming attack and slipped on the mud, landing on his back.

The prongs of the fork slammed into the ground beside Dipper’s head, eliciting a hiss of air from the teen as he felt the sharpened metal graze his ear. It was yanked up, pulling clods of earth from the ground with it, and Gideon rammed the weapon back down - had the teen not flipped over seconds before, it would’ve been buried in his skull. Bravely, Dipper grabbed the handle of the pitchfork and used it as leverage to push up and kick the attacker in the ribs. Gideon faltered and fell back. His head slammed into dirt. Golden eyes flashing, Dipper took the weapon and pushed the points lightly into the boy’s stomach.

“What are you doing this for, Gideon?” Each word was a gust of exhaustion. “What are you trying to prove?”

“Ahm _tryin’_ to set things raht!” Gideon grabbed either side of the metal prongs and shoved upwards, ramming the blunt end into Dipper’s face. It crashed into his nose and gums in an explosion of pain and he stumbled, spitting blood. “Ahm tryin’ to save mah town, Pines!”

“Bullshith,” the teen hissed, cupping his hand under his mouth. “Why thould you do that now? You never did befoe.”

The southerner stood and grappled with Dipper, crimson staining patches on his palms. Despite his younger age, pure stature proved an effective offense, and the teen fell to the ground in lieu of a violent shove. Gideon kicked him sharply in the stomach with his steel toed boot. “Ah’m _apologisin’_ . _You_ don’t seem tah get it.”

“I - heh - schtill call bullshit.” Another kick, harder this time, and Dipper curled in on himself. “Don’th - heh - you dare shay thish ishn’t about my shister. At leasht in part.”

“Ah can very well ram that metal into your brain and never have to listen to y’all ever again.” But Gideon was flagging slightly, preening the mess that had been made of his hair. A conscientious foot poised itself warningly at the Pines’ head. “So what if ah do have a few ulterior motives? Of course ah’d benefit from havin’ you gone, Dipper. You stood in mah way for years.”

Dipper was grumpily tapping at his teeth with one hand, wincing when some shifted. “Trusht me, I know you, you lil’ shit. Thish town will never be yoursh.”

“Makes no difference to me. Yah know, I bet you can’t give me a single reason as to why I shouldn’t just kick y’all’s face in raht this second.” The boot pressed agonisingly into Dipper’s swelling nose. “It would give me _incredible_ satisfaction, although it would make quite a mess.”

“Selfish bashtard. _Curo.”_ Clattering teeth righted themselves, broken nose shifting into place. “If you kill me, then you’re no better than I am.”

“That argument is meaningless and y’all know it. Nice to hear that you accept that you’re filth, though, Dipper.” He ground his heel down into the teen’s palm, listening to the soundless scream it elicited and the agonised convulsions as his victim tried desperately to pull away. The crunching of bone was a symphony to Gideon’s ears. “This is for the children.” He aimed higher up along Dipper’s arm and pressed with all of his weight, ignoring the litany of starved chokes as he listened for a satisfying crack, which he eventually received. When he finally glanced at the person below, he realised that the teen was barely present, having repressed everything to cope with the pain. “Ah hope that taught you something, _kid_. Guess ah’ll let you live. Fer now.”

He picked up the pitchfork from the ground, studying it delicately. “Dang. Dented it. Ah well, mah Daddy has plen’y more. Gotten real popular lately.” A careless glance upwards showed Dipper to be immobile, crying without expression. “Well. Catch yah later. Or not. Ah don’t care if I see yah in person or a coffin. Either way, y’all can’t do anythin’ about it.”

Gideon left.

It took Bill carrying his apprentice into the Mindscape and fixing him up _again_ for Dipper to return fully, body shaking wildly as it tried to escape the agony. “ _C-cu - r - c -”_ he had stuttered, incapable of mouthing the entirely of the spell, never mind directing his powers correctly.

“For fuck’s sake, shut up, I’m trying to do something here.” The demon traced lines along crumbled fingers, setting bones and lowering swelling as he went. It was punctuated by tiny whimpers. After a long hour, he finally saw fit to heal the broken arm, ignoring the scream that echoed through the Mindscape, watched over by a collection of interdimensional criminals. They left before the human woke properly, voicing intrigue yet unwilling to participate in Bill’s plans for the time being.

Although it took an extensive sleep and a lot of violent swearing, the human made a full recovery. He stayed in the Mindscape for the day following, practicing summonings and grumbling about anything he could.

Dipper heaved a sigh, threading his fingers through his curls. A half-formed chaise-longue sat before him. “This is going terribly. I can’t remember a time when I got injured _this much_.”

Bill looked up from a book, which he was reading upside-down. “It’s what they lovingly called a ‘witch hunt’ a few hundred years ago, Pine Tree. Only then, when they caught ‘em, they’d burn ‘em at the stake. ‘Fraid you’re gonna have to get used to this. For as long as you’re doing work in Gravity Falls, this isn’t gonna let up.”

All of Dipper’s focus drained away, leaving him staring at the blank ground. He blinked, looked up at Bill, and looked away.

***

“Hello? Mr and Mrs Pines? Yes, hello, it’s Stanford Pines here.”

Mabel hovered. Stanley pretended not to listen.

“Uh, yes. Very good, thank you. And you? Excellent, excellent. Well. We are aware that it’s nearing the end of summer, and you obviously expect them back after their birthday, but Mabel suggested that she and her brother could do something for uh… extra credit!” He covered up the microphone and whispered _“Is that a thing that exists?”_ Mabel gave an exasperated shrug.

He returned to the phone. “Yes, for extra credit. Apparently learning skills outside of school can be considered a form of external education… yes… well, it would be in business, which is appropriate given Mabel’s leanings. Oh. Dipper? Uh, if he wants to make that supernatural show, it would be beneficial for him too. You know what they say about that Falls.” He laughed weakly. “Heh. I know it would be a long time, but they really are invested… he’s really improved recently, so I can’t see why we shouldn’t give it a shot…”

Stanley dropped his head onto the table, and gazed at the heavens. “Next time, I’m gonna be the one doing the sweet talking. This is physically painful.”

“Talk to Dipper?” There was a pregnant pause. “He’s out. With a friend.” Which wasn’t technically a lie, although it was hardly a truth. “Mabel is here, though. Ok, I’ll hand you over.”

Mabel winced. “Oh, hi Mom! Yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine. He’s fine too. Yeah, that _was_ my idea. It’d only be for a month, maybe? Two weeks? We still need to contact the school.” She paused. “Oh, cool, thank you! I’ll make sure I use it well. Hah. Yeah. Yes, I am. Mhm. Grunkle Stan is _not_ averse to tooth brushing, don’t be rude. Right. Sure thing. Okay, well I need to go. Okay. Love you. Love you! Bye!”

Sighing with relief, she dropped the call, throwing the phone down. “Well that was weirdly easy. Good thing we got Mom and not Dad. Anyway, she says she’ll send some money along, and that I should call later when we’ve spoken to the school.”

“We can pull a few governmental strings here and there, I’m sure.” Stanford smiled weakly.

“Yeah, but do you think a month will be enough?” Mabel mumbled, eyes on the floor. “I mean, it’s been, like, over a week since he first left already. Our birthday is this weekend. Do we really have enough time to catch him, without it being one of the townspeople who do it?” Birds chirruped eagerly outside. “Gideon said he’d almost killed Dipper the other day… I don’t want him to die.”

Ford ruffled her hair and hummed. “We don’t want him dead, either.”  
  
***

Once again, Dipper fell through the rift and moaned. Palm clutched against his side, he drew it away darkened with blood, crimson staining every finger. _“_ **_Curo_ ** _.”_ The wound closed up, but the mess remained. “Ugh, fuck. That was way too close.”

Bill’s avante-garde throne was already set up, but empty of the dream demon. Tired, and feeling brave, the teen clambered up onto it and rested his head on the back, nibbling on his lip. There was still a bizarre pang of desire - the demon’s idea of a joke - and he shamefully cleaned the blood from one of his fingers. It tasted of copper.

***

“It’s a good thing Stanley made a copy of the third Journal,” Ford grumbled, staring at the pile of ash that had taken up permanent residence on the kitchen table.

***

Growling, Dipper grabbed at his aggressor’s head and slammed it into the wall, shaking at the thick _CRUNCH_ and low moan that accompanied it. When he rolled them over (unmoving, life on a tightrope) he recognised the young woman as the daughter of one of the dead. Prickles of guilt ran up from his toes. If he’d known that they were one of the heavily mourning, then he’d have shown more control.

She’d chased him out from where he was working in the woods, armed with a bat and driving him into an alleyway. Unfortunately for her, Dipper was becoming a capable fighter - her heavy swing was dodged easily and he took her legs out from below, grabbing her by the neck and forcing her bodily into the side of one of the shops. Judging by the dripping graze on her forehead, the bloody nose and her limp form, death was soon to follow. It was a shame, of course, but survival required mercilessness.

Dipper made to run from the alleyway. His pupils shrank to pinpricks.

The people were waiting.

“A trap,” he whispered. The body of the woman lay at his heels. Torches were being lit, as furious voices rose up.

“He _killed her -!?_ ”

“Holy shit, I wasn’t expecting it to go that far -”

“She knew the dangers, and look, we got what we wanted, so stop stalling -”

Dipper backed up, stumbling over the corpse behind him, slamming into the wall. Hands scrabbled against unmoving brick. The mob began to advance, chanting or shouting vehemently, torches held aloft. Were his heart not performing impressive acrobatics, the teen would’ve thought it excessive and dull; to his dismay, the number of participants seemed to have increased since the last time. Wendy and Mabel weren’t present, though. In fact, none of his old friends had turned up.

The alleyway was miniscule, and there was only so far that Dipper could back up before he was awash with angry townspeople. From his experience, the wall would be far too smooth to climb. There wasn’t enough room to open the Mindscape. So he tried to be creative.

Leaning forward, he pooled all of his magic at his feet, praying to whatever deity there might be - Bill, he supposed - that this would work.

What the crowd was not expecting was for their enemy to sail in a perfect arc above their heads.

Dipper cheered as he flew above them; it seemed that aiding a jump with a bit of power actually _worked!_ He cleared the mob easily, slamming against the floor with an impact that made his bones rattle. Another roar of fury sounded from behind him. Pelting along the open road, he rummaged through his memory, desperately searching for something to distract them.

Perfect. “ _Corpus levitas, diablo dominium mondo vicium_!”

Fissures began to form in the earth just as he ripped into the Mindscape, catching a glimpse of sulphurous green light emanating from unholy depths. Zombies ought to keep the people busy for a while.

Dipper slumped forward in relief. He looked up. Bill was staring down at him, eye curved in apparent interest, finger tapping on the edge of his seat. The teen grinned weakly. “Hi.”

“Hi to you too, kid. Do I wanna know what happened?”

“Besides me raising the dead? Probably not.”

***

Ford stared at the ceiling for a record time of 3 hours, 42 minutes and 17 seconds before he called off any further attempt at sleeping. Mashing his hand around blindly at the digital clock by his bed revealed that the time was 06:11, casting a sharp red glow across the room. He groaned. Over the course of the past week, he’d barely managed a single night of comfortable sleep.

Slumping his way into the kitchen, he was met with the sight of Mabel (drinking a row of shots of her famous ‘Mabel Juice’) and Stan (watching in avid, if terrified, fascination.) Neither of them looked like they had slept particularly well either.

“‘Morning,” Stan mumbled, never moving his gaze.

“Good morning, Lee.” Ugh. His mouth tasted of feet. Ford nabbed one of the shots and downed it bravely, prompting an extremely wide, almost disbelieving stare from his brother. Then his twin seemed worried.

“Are ya sure ya can even say that, Ford? Those bags have bags, if you catch my drift.”

“I’ve been thinking.” (“Gosh, that’s a first.”) Stanford sat down and prodded at the remains of the Journal. “I can’t let the violence go on unchecked. Did you hear about last night?”

“If ya mean the zombies at the door, yeah, I did.” Stan eyed his shotgun as Mabel was staring down the final four shots. “Where were ya, anyway?”

“Well, aside from setting up an impromptu karaoke session, I was studying the body of another victim. The town had set up a trap without my knowledge - or Cutebiker’s, so he claims - and they used a woman for bait.” He took another shot and coughed painfully. “Dipper didn’t show any mercy.”

“Killed?” Mabel muttered, finger circling the rim of a cup.

“Yes. She died due to blunt force trauma to the cranium. The police have actual evidence of his involvement now, so he’s officially wanted by the law.” Apparently this was too much for his great niece; she downed the rest of the satanic drink in three immediate gulps. “I wouldn’t blame him _too_ heavily for that. They trapped him down an alleyway and rushed him with weapons.”

“How’d he get out of that?” Stan was trying his best not to sound too interested.

“Flew, or so the witnesses say. I… doubt that’s true. Probably something similar, but as far as I know proper _flight_ isn’t within his abilities. The zombies were,” Ford sighed, “an irritating distraction if I ever saw one.”

“39.”

The Grunkles turned to Mabel. “What?”

“39. That’s how many people he’s killed in total.” The cups fell like dominoes. “I miss Dipper. Not - not whoever this person is. My brother wouldn’t have knelt to that bastard, not in a million years. Did it - was it quick for her?”

“... It wasn’t very drawn out,” Ford offered unhelpfully. “It’s the past. We may not be able to bring back those who’ve already gone. And I think I know how to solve this.” Mabel’s eyes warmed. “I have a plan. It’ll prevent further damage, and it will… get Dipper away from Bill.”

Mabel didn’t ask for any further information, just grabbed her Grunkle round the torso and smiled.

***

Unbeknownst to Dipper, Bill had been spending a lot of time preventing his mental illness from becoming unmanageable again.

Without medication, the constant threat of crippling depression was a genuine issue, and the demon frequently poked a hand around in the kid’s head to level the playing field a bit. One of the positives of this was that he had stopped _moping_. Aside from the occasional pity party (and by the gods, did he go to town with them) Dipper seemed to be cheerful enough, cracking jokes and carrying out his orders with even more vim and determination than he had before. It made the demon relax a bit too much, maybe prodding around in too many places.

One day, when the kid was asleep on the Mindscape floor, Bill went in to do his usual duty, and just wasn’t paying attention. The castle of Dipper’s mind was in an almost unrecognisable state. Where the bricks had been broken and dilapidated, they had been patched up and improved by patches of solid gold. Bill’s work was increasingly evident.

The base, however, was less than stable, and he didn’t think to check.

Mindscapes, as a general rule, had a fairly basic premise. They were, of course, reflective of the person that owned them, and more often than not contained a delicious amount of bizarre, repressed memories. They were built upon three core human traits: the conscience, the heart, and reason. The very framework of the human mind, they composed the foundations of Stan’s Mystery Shack, the tilled soil of Ford’s corn field, and in Dipper’s world, they formed the bottommost set of bricks in his castle.

Flying around aimlessly, Bill barged in on a few memories, watching the fight with Gideon until he got bored. He wandered up countless stairs, eventually reaching the innermost workings of the kid’s mind. It was a clock, excessively complex, cogs poorly oiled. “Nice metaphor you got, kid.” Bill picked up a tiny component and slotted it back in. “Shitty structure, though.”

It took a series of increasingly complicated fixes to prevent everything failing again (breakdowns were so damn common in humans, it drove the demon to distraction) and he whistled aggravatingly as the largest cog shone.

Sauntering out, the dream demon took pride in a job well done.

Then he shrieked.

What attempts at scaffolding he had put up had collapsed completely, castle crumbling, mind protesting at the pure number of times that it had been intruded upon and changed. After just one editing session, Stan’s Mystery Shack had looked precarious, and Bill had allowed himself to become incredibly complacent in his treatment of the kid’s mind.

“Ah.” A chunk of wall slipped and fell. “This is bad.”

Less panicked than he ought to have been, Bill zipped around, pushing up sections of eroding stone and hissing in frustration as memories fell to the ground and smashed irreparably. He was pushing up a battlement as a gargoyle plummeted down and exploded. “Well, there goes a childhood memory.” A window caved in. “And another. Why exactly do the fundamentals form the frame? Should call up the Big Man on that one.”

Eye darting around for the source of the problem, Bill caught sight of the worst area. An entire section of the foundations was almost completely gone - what the demon recognised to be Dipper’s compromised conscience. Leaving the battlement to fend for itself, he dived down and kicked out what remained of the kid’s morality. “Been meaning to replace this old thing anyway. Sorry PT. Guess I got distracted.”

He shoved in some of his glowing supports, watching with pride as the structure righted itself. Some losses occurred, sure, but for the most part the demon was content that he hadn’t sent Pine Tree into full-blown insanity. Fun as it could be, he needed coherence for his plans.

Mind you, he’d probably created a Hyde from a Jekyll. Which had the potential to be interesting. Would there even be a change at this point? Either way, the demon would have to test it out later - there was a reason why he’d run his check up in the first place, and it was in danger of slipping away from him if he stuck around too long.

Exiting to the Mindscape proper, Bill stretched out and caught sight of the teen stretched out across the floor, still unconscious. He floated down, walked over, and prodded Dipper in the arm. “Uh, kid. Kid? You alright?”

Dipper woke slowly, groaning and squinting in disapproval at the demon. “What’re you talking about? ‘M fine. Let me sleep.”

“Heh.” Bill continued to shake the human, opening up a burning rift in his dimension with a careless flick of the wrist. “Gotta make sure ya haven’t died in my absence. Humans! Fragile! And heck, I dunno, kid, I don’t think you wanna miss this party. It _is_ for your birthday after all...”

The teen immediately bolted upright. “What!?” The rift burned before him. Glowing eyes - all orange, or copper, or yellow, leered out from the black - now his equals, in the way humanity would never be again. He wondered if his own golden eyes were all that the new arrivals could see.

“Yeah. Happy 16th, Pine Tree! Meet your new _friends_.”

***

“Happy birthday, Mabes!”

“Yeah, happy birthday!”

“I can’t believe you finally turned 16, loser.”

Collected around the table of the Mystery shack was a gaggle of deceptively innocent-looking girls. Candy, Grenda, Wendy and Pacifica all clutched presents to their chests, desperately happy, all waiting for Mabel to light the final candle on her cake. She did so.

Their rendition of ‘Happy Birthday to You’ was almost world-record level of offkey. It was well meant. Mabel gave a wobbly chuckle and blew out the candles. “Happy birthday, Dipper.”

Wendy shot a dismayed look at Pacifica, who shrugged helplessly, taking up Mabel’s hand in her own. “Come on, nerd, you should open your gifts. Mine’s the best, of course, but that was never even a question, huh?” Receiving no response, she leaned in to her friend. “Come on Mabel. I know it’s hard to forget him today of all days. But you have to try focus on yourself for once, yeah?”

Soggily, the new 16 year old clutched to her friend and dried her tears on a comforting shoulder. “Yeah. Let’s have some fun. He’ll be back before we know it.”

“Exactly. Now quit being such a wet blanket and check out this _totally genuine_ Brother Innovis sewing machine…” Paz shot a look at Candy and Grenda, who nodded and took over, fussing over Mabel and shrieking with her at the beautiful machinery she had been gifted with. Wendy took Pacifica’s hand and led her to Ford’s private room. He was sat at his desk, hands tangled in his hair. Wendy knocked lightly.

“What is it, Stanle-” he looked up and blinked. His eyes were red-ringed. “Oh, sorry about that, Wendy. And you brought the young Northwest with you! What is it that you want?”

Both of the girls battled one another to be the one who could stay silent. Eventually, Wendy lost. “Stanford, we wanted to talk to you. About Dipper.”

He winced, turning in his chair to face them. “On their birthday? Is now really the time?”

“It’s super important,” the lumberjack begged. “Honestly.”

“Well… okay, but be quick. What do you want to know?” He walked over, arms crossed, standing awkwardly by the doorway.

“It’s like this, Pines,” Pacifica intoned. “Mabes seems to think that you’re going to be able to get Dipper back. Did you tell her that? Is it… is it true?”

Ford clutched his arms tighter around his frame, nibbled at the bottom of his lip, and looked away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TOE FWH, RG HUJH CM PCW WRB - AIL QCH’K QCNTV OY, Z’A OIIS OIEGVYI HJUE ACH
> 
> If the comments sections continue like this I’m going to cry. I don’t think I can say enough thank you’s without becoming painfully repetitive. You’re all lovely. SOMEBODY WHO IS ESPECIALLY LOVELY IS EPICFLYINGTACO17, WHO DREW ME FANART? WHAT AN ANGEL. http://xxepicflyingtaco17xx.deviantart.com/art/Fallen-Pine-600414611
> 
> Dipper’s comment about Gideon’s weight is shitty. On the other hand, their fight may be one of my favourite scenes in the whole story. Yay violence! I also drew a picture for this, literally to try and prevent myself from writing an entire chapter in one sitting (I’m crazy invested help me). I got lazy with the background but OH WELL IT’S A THING:  
> 
> 
> SONGS: Human Hands by Bowerbirds, Run Boy Run by Woodkid


	19. The End

“Oh god, why…”

Dipper was sprawled on his fully formed chaise-longue, clutching at his head and groaning. Bill was lain flat out on the floor, martini glass inches away from his grasp. He wiggled one finger in an attempt to reach it. “Mmgh.” Sluggishly, his arm extended, until he could wrap his palm around it. “Jus’... a lil’ more…” It promptly fell over, spilling Time Punch along the Mindscape floor. “Shit.”

To say that the party had been wild would have been a gross understatement. Dipper couldn’t remember having ever seen such a level of decadence - or pure freedom. Grey void had been changed into an endless dance floor, tables floating at various heights, glitter and streamers and decorations that would have made his sister drool. Of course, being in the Mindscape, it took only seconds to produce, but it was still entirely appreciated. 

Bill’s friends were absolutely insane, which was only to be expected. Dipper had liked them all, especially Pyronica and Kryptos (for all Bill claimed that he was the ‘token friend, who nobody really liked’). They had initiated a game of ‘never have I ever’; something which, for better or for worse, apparently permeated every dimension.

“Ish… ish this safe f-for humans to drink?” Dipper asked, blinking at the punch in his glass. It had occurred to him after his third round that he had never asked about the contents. “I f-feel weird.”

“Oh, urhmm…” Pyronica blinked down into her own drink, as Bill did the same. “I… uh… Bill, is it safe?”

Drunkenly, the demon giggled. “Well, if it isn’t, we’ll be finding out pretty soon!” His expression clouded over, pensieve. “Oh. Oh yeah. Nah, it’s fine PT, it takes a lot before it consumes your insides!” He grabbed the human’s arm. “It might make you live forever, kid. We - we jus’ don’t know.” 

“Get off me, l-loser.” Dipper yelped as he suddenly lost control of his body, the dream demon’s eye gleaming as he puppeted the human around. “H-hey! Stop!” Whoops and cheers arose from the circle of monsters. 

“Lookit this! Full motor control!” The human was directed into the middle of the group. He knelt to Bill briefly (cue even louder cheering) before he was sharpy forced to stand and perform some acrobatics that he could never have performed otherwise. Dipper acquiesced mindlessly until Bill yanked him close for a second, hovering inches from the boy’s nose, staring directly into his eyes. “You’re my  _ puppet _ ,” he slurred, voice dangerous. 

Countless eyes watched for the reaction. “Bill, you’re s-scaring me.”

Pausing, the demon tilted to his side - and began laughing. Dipper sighed in relief as he found himself back in control of his body; he cheerfully chugged down another five glasses of the questionable substance, until the floor and the ceiling seemed to blend together and shift into an amalgamation of colours and lights.

Or maybe that was entirely literal. One could never be sure in the Mindscape.

Needless to say, Dipper was now nursing his first and worst hangover. Fragments of memories were trying to shove themselves into some semblance of an evening, resulting in a confused mishmash of inhuman faces and ridiculous levels of indulgence. Sharp twinges ran along from his head to his throat. Dull aches flared from his eyes. Nothing short of an ocean would soothe the sandpaper that had replaced his mouth. Blearily, he squinted at the triangle splayed out on the floor. 

The demon was trying to summon punch into his makeshift mouth. 

***

“Okay, Lee, it’s very simple. We summon Cipher, and then you let me deal with him. I have it sorted.”

Less than enchanted, Stanley grumbled and stared down at the photograph in his hand. “Could ya at least give me a hint? I don’t like being out of the loop, you know that, and I want to be able to help if things go- ”

“No. You’re too susceptible to Mabel’s tricks. I’m sorry, but this is the best way.” Ford glanced at the calendar. “Give it… two days.” 

*******

“Feeling better, kid?” 

Dipper nodded, painting runes onto the forest floor. There was a snap of a twig, and he jumped up to his feet - magic was pooled at his fingers before the rabbit had moved another inch. Bill seemed impressed; he patted on the teenager’s shoulder soothingly. “Not a human, PT. Just a dumb animal who doesn’t recognise my magical signature.”

“Yeah. Sorry, I’m a bit jumpy.” He dropped back to his knees. “Hopefully it’ll get better soon, huh?”

The demon hummed, eye nearly shut, and continued his silent consideration of the trees.

*******

On Ford’s request, he and Stan lied to Mabel. She went to sleep that night in the belief that they were going to execute their plans the next day - not knowing what the plans were, nor why her great uncle would keep them a secret. 

Around midnight, the elderly man clasped his brother’s shoulder and guided him outside, standing in the soupy darkness, blinking up at a clear night sky. Everything was prematurely set up. A picture of Dipper (long argued about between Ford and Stan; Ford won) sat amidst a cluster of candles, eyes crossed out. He lit the candles and stepped back.

“ _ Triangulum, entangulum. Veneforis dominus ventium. Veneforis venetisarium.”  _ Ford spoke with no inflection, watching emotionlessly as the candles began to flare. Light pooled unnaturally across the grass, and reflected in cracked glasses as Stanford curled in on himself.

“F-Ford?” Stanley was panicking, shocked by the sudden twist to monochrome, and winced visibly as blue poured from his brother’s eyes.  _ ‘Egassem sdrawkcab! Egassem sdrawkcab! Egassem sdrawkcab!’  _ Time slowed - or did it speed up? - and the very stars above seemed to wink out of existence. “Ford, is this what’s meant ta happen?”

Finally free from the throes of the spell, Stanford stood, staring up into the night with a vengeance. “It’s going perfectly.’

The world shivered, refusing to still as three lines bloomed above the summoning circle. Each one lengthened, connecting into a perfect triangle, shifting to yellow and punctuated by a maniacal cackle that could only belong to one very specific dream demon. Arms and legs sprouted at the same time as Bill’s eye, cat slit curving downwards and curling in glee. Colour bled back in.

“My my, Stanford Pines, it is  _ good _ to see you again!” Flexing, the demon eviscerated the candles with one flick of the palm, melting the photograph down to a formless pile of sludge. “Gosh, it feels like no time at all since we last crossed paths! Wonder why.”

“I’m not here to play games,” the man growled. “Quit it with the nonsense, Cipher.”

“So what  _ do _ you wanna do, IQ? Reminisce? Chat about how your great nephew thinks you’re a total bastard? Give yourself to me in a surprise show of fealty? How about all three?”

Stanley shook himself out of the daze he’d fallen prey to and stepped forward, clasping his brother’s shoulder. “We’re here to get Dipper back, and stop ya, whatever plans ya have.” Both he and Ford winced at how anticlimactic it sounded; they were reminded of how unsure and powerless humans were against the tide of the supernatural, especially when it came to the crazed dream demon.

Bill giggled. “Heh. Well, in which case, I’m guessing you wanna be talking to Pine Tree too, so -” 

A humanoid figure coalesced in the sky alongside Bill, shifting from an immaterial glow to fully fledged person. “I was in the middle of something, what did you -” Dipper looked down and blanched. “Oh.”

“Hello, Dipper.” Too many conflicting emotions were carried in Ford’s words.

As the human hit the ground, he looked up at Bill almost pleadingly, refusing to acknowledge his great uncle’s existence. “Do we really have to have me around? I was  _ this close _ to discovering more about -” He glanced at the two men. “- the thing.”

“Just wait behind me, kid. This shouldn’t take long.” Disgruntled, Dipper stood motionlessly to Bill’s side, stuck somewhere between tension and apathy. “Now…”

Visibly petrified, Stanford reached into his coat, drawing out a revolver from a gun holster. Dipper choked down a gasp; he made sure to look into his great uncle’s face rather than at the weapon he’d concealed for so long. Wind whistled through the trees. Stanley grew increasingly worried, gaze slipping from his brother to the triangle in the air.

Bill looked downright  _ bored _ . “Come on, Sixer. This is yawn-worthy. In fact -” His eye briefly turned into a mouth and he yawned obnoxiously. “Surprise me.”

Ford had the revolver aimed perfectly at Bill’s centre. “I know what you’re planning, Cipher. You’re not gonna get away with it.”

“Oh.  _ Oh.”  _ The demon squinted cheerfully. “Fallen pine, eh?” When Ford’s hand shook, the demon cackled. “You think I didn’t hear that? I hear everything. And well, I doubt even you know the full scale of my plans, IQ.”

“Wha’ plans? Stanford, what the hell is he on about with this ‘pine’ business?” Stanley was stood at his brother’s side, pleading desperately into his ear. “Jus’ how much of this did you  _ keep _ from me?”

“I probably don’t know it all, Cipher. In fact, I know I don’t. But it makes no difference. I can still stop you. Easiest thing in the world.” Four gazes went directly to the gun in his hand. It hadn’t moved, even though the burn of exertion in his arm was almost unbearable at this point.

“And what exactly do you think  _ that’s  _ gonna do, Sixer? I’m not exactly mortal. You can’t kill me.”

Ford shook. Finger pressed loosely on the trigger, he lowered the gun slightly. “You’re right. I… I can’t kill you. But I can kill  _ him _ .”

Twisting his arm at a startling speed, the elderly man barely had the time to aim before his hand was stinging with sharp recoil. The air was rent with Stan’s terrified scream, torn in two, followed by the sickly sound of bone crunching under pressure. Stan tackled Ford seconds too late; the boy had already slipped and fallen to the ground, carried by the momentum of the bullet that had pierced his brain. Dipper lay motionless in a slowly growing pool of crimson.

There was a second of absolute silence.

Then Bill began to  _ laugh _ .

It wasn’t a terrified, disbelieving sound, but a genuinely mirthful  _ glee _ , high pitched and grating. Both Stan and Ford simply lay there and gawped, tears streaming down Ford’s face. Stan’s hand twitched close to his heart as he registered what had just happened.

“Did you really think that could do  _ anything _ , Sixer? Did you really think I didn’t know about this all along?” The demon was in hysterics, rubbing tears away from his eye. “Heart attack at 92 for you, Fordsy! I  _ always knew  _ Dipper was going to die!”

“You - you -” Hand releasing the gun, Ford gave an aching sob, covering his face and slamming his head back into the dirt. “You  _ bastard _ ,  _ you absolute bastard. _ You used him, you -”

“You killed Dipper.” Stan had finally processed the body on the floor, grabbing his brother by the lapels. “You killed Dipper. What the  _ fuck  _ were you  _ thinking -” _

“I always knew you were immoral, Bill, but -” Ford couldn’t bring himself to look over, gazing up at the shack. The attic light was on, and a shadow passed across the square of yellow. “Oh, fuck, Mabel, she can’t be allowed to see - she didn’t know about the plan -”

Stanley hissed indignantly, clambering to his feet. “Nor did I.” For half a second, his hand seemed to list towards the revolver, furious temptation singing behind his eyes, but he merely turned away and looked up into the skies.  Ford didn’t pay attention to him, standing up and squaring up to Bill.

“What, are you  _ glad  _ he’s dead?” Stanford controlled his trembling.

“Glad? I wouldn’t go with _glad_. What is _hysterical_ is the fact that you just dug your own grave, Fordsy _dearest._ Sacrificing your family over what - some prophecy?”

“The golden eyes,” he whimpered. “It was too alike to be coincidental -”

Stan was lost. “What prophecy? You never said anythin’ about a prophecy -” He could only see the body lying cold on the ground. “Oh - kid.” Stiltedly walking to Dipper’s side, Stan fell to his knees. Fumbling, shaking hands slipped under Dipper’s torso, lifting him up to lie limp on the older man’s chest. “Oh, god, kid.” 

As Ford and Bill argued (Ford shaking gently with regret for so many things) Stan clutched Dipper close. One calloused thumb stroked the teen's unmarred cheek; he looked unflinchingly at the rounded, youthful countenance of his great nephew. He looked so young. Too young, too small, perfectly clean shaven and a touch shrunken in his death. Gold was still visible in his gaze, but muted now, no longer the bright headlamps that seemed to pierce into Stan's soul. Shivering, he gently shut his eyes, soothed by the sight of them closed.

"God, kid." Sticky crimson was seeping in where Stan supported Dipper's head. "I remember holding you like this when you were a baby," he whispered. "Lot bigger than you were then, o' course. You were so much smaller than Mabel. Tiny little thing, you almost died, choked on your own umbilical cord. Mind you, once ya got past that, nothing could stop you. Especially with those bright eyes that promised mischief. Never quite so much as you actually caused in the end, with that damned Journal, and with this."

Shifting his right hand, Stan pulled clotted curls away from Dipper's birthmark and almost gagged. It was barely visible beneath the sheen of red. "I always loved your birthmark, even though I knew you'd hate it. Was kind of a let down when you first arrived and I saw that hat... But it doesn't matter. You never needed some constellation to make you special, kid. You were unique all by yerself. Too damn smart for your own good, always showin’ yourself up somehow, growing up as everybody does - by making a lot of mistakes. Gravity Falls ruined it all. It's no place for kids, and I guess you proved that. But, ya know, I never stopped being proud of you." 

Stan was barely audible. "You fought for so long. Against so much, and I still take some of the blame for how messed up you got. I hate what you did, Dipper, and I hate that we failed you. I hate that this is how it had to end; 'cause of Ford, of all people." Trying not to focus on how cold the kid felt, Stan pulled him closer and held him tight. "I love you, Dipper." 

Dipper did not hug back.

“What I want to know is why you would even answer the summon if you knew what would happen? Why the hell would you risk that?” Ford was fighting against physical bonds now, face shining with slick tears. “Did you  _ want _ it?”

“Fate goes way beyond me, Sixer! I have no control there. I knew tonight was coming. I’ve known since I first saw the kid, when he was still an annoying little brat.” Bill smirked. “Can you  _ imagine _ how fascinating it was? Here he is, this brash chip off the old block, who is destined to die at the hands of the one and only  _ Stanford Pines _ , and in three years, no less? How was I meant to resist?”

“T-that was the entire reason?” Ford had paled. “The whole reason you ever spoke to him? W-was me?”

“Heh. Now that you put it like that… I guess so, Sixer! How does that make ya feel?” The demon propped his hands on his sides. “Maybe if ya hadn’t had such a huge ego, none of this would’a happened!”

The crumbling of the man’s mind under the weight of his perceived guilt was almost palpable. Grasping at the glowing chains, he searched every inch of his reason for an excuse. Something soothing. “He would never have changed sides without intervention,” he finally stuttered, muted. “You must have altered his mind.”

“On the contrary,  **Stanford** ,” Bill’s voice was uncharacteristically soft to say he was driving the knife home. “While I admit, I did indulge myself a little, Dipper would always have joined me eventually.”

“You don’t know that, Bill.”

“You think I haven’t seen the other dimensions out there? Your lovely little Pine Tree often ends up  _ my  _ lovely little Pine Tree in the end, whether I poke my angle in or not! It’s even better when he just gives himself over without any coercion. Those are my  _ favourites _ .” He purred his words out, reverb kissing Ford’s ears.

“Wha’s going on?” 

Ford stilled immediately, heart stopping as Mabel’s shadow stretched out along the ground, framed by a perfect rectangle of yellow light. She blinked blearily out at the darkness, immediately growing suspicious at the sight of Bill and Ford. “You… you didn’t…” Her eyes strayed to the hidden figure hunched over on the grass, and the limp body in his arms. Facial features played out a slow, but sure, cognition of the scene before her. “No.” She covered her mouth. “No. No, no  _ please  _ no.” 

Hair billowing behind her, Mabel ran out onto the grass, barefoot and pyjama-clad. Stan didn’t bother to shield Dipper from her, watching helplessly as she reached his shoulder. 

“S-sweetie, you shouldn’t… you shouldn’t…” Stan’s voice was thick. “Please go inside.”

Oblivious, she stood, staring down at her brother. “No.” She stumbled to the opposite side and dropped to her knees, clasping his hand in her own. “No.” Fat tears rolled down to her chin, soaking her legs as they fell. “T-this wasn’t… we were going to save him. I thought we were going to save him?”

She glared at her great uncle, still bound, his eyes secured firmly to the ground. 

“He lied,” Stan whispered. 

Bill flew over, chains retreating so that Ford was left alone on the grass, shoulders sloping. Checking a (nonexistent) watch on his arm, he gave a simple ‘come hither motion’. “Alright then. Hand him over, Fez.”

“You must be fucking crazy,” Stan clutched Dipper closer and turned his back. “Why should we?”

“Think of it like this, Pines’. What do you intend to do? Tell the parents that Stanford shot their son? Bury him and say he went missing? Let the  _ town _ at him?” Bill did not look particularly entertained. “While I’m sure Sixer can work something out, ya can’t pretend that it’s safe for you to have PT. Besides which, he  _ belongs to me. _ ”

“My brother never  _ belonged _ to anyone,” Mabel wept. “He’s a person, not a - not a possession.”

“Demonic law says otherwise, kiddo. He knelt to me, and that made him mine. I wouldn’t get too morally uppity, Shooting Star, I could cut you down in a minute. So.” He flared red, eye darkening. “ _ HAND HIM OVER.” _

Looking to his brother (and then looking away, internally chastised for even acknowledging his existence), Stanley briefly considered holding his ground. Then, seeing the deep fear in Mabel’s eyes, he acquiesced, gently lowering the body to the floor. He took his great niece’s arm and staggered away. 

Lain out on the grass, Dipper looked entirely at peace. He could have been sleeping under the stars, were it not for the stains streaking his face, were it not for the slight downward tilt of his lips. Blue light flared up from the soil, weaving itself into a translucent sphere. Dipper was cradled within it. Then, just as quickly as he had appeared, the orb was gone - transported somewhere far out of reach. Bill wiped imaginary dust from his hat and waved. “I’ll be seeing you around, Pines!”

With the same immediacy, the demon was gone.

Nothing moved. Mabel’s grasp on her great uncle’s arm was unfaltering, face pulled into an expression that slipped somewhere between confusion and disbelief. While Stan was no longer crying, his reddened eyes and stoic chin betrayed just as much feeling. Ford wished he were anywhere else.

By all accounts, it was a beautiful night. Balmy, glowing, the kind of night that twelve year olds would believe to be stuffed with magical possibility. Creatures slipped back into the undergrowth in the woods. Light flooded from the inside of the shack onto the land outside. 

Sniffing, Stan looked at the blood staining his hands and his torso, casting a glance at the similarly painted ground. With one hand, he guided Mabel into the house. When he reached Ford, he turned for a second. “You fix this. Then you get the  _ fuck  _ out of my home.”

Stanford didn’t get to reply, watching the door slam in his face. He looked down at the revolver, up at the moon, and tried his best not to cry.

***

“Well?”

“I - I’ve edited the memory gun. If we use it, we can make the world forget that he ever existed.” The voice wavered. “I mean, it’s not foolproof, and we’ll be relying on - on him - to get rid of the physical evidence, but it’s the best thing we have.”

“Gone completely? For everyone?”

“Yes. Except for us, and Mabel. It would be better to have her forget, to let her heal, but I don’t think she’ll allow it.”

“And you can’t lie to her again.”

“Y-yeah.”

“Get on with it, then.”

***

“Pacifica?”

“Mabel.” The girl’s voice sounded odd down the phone.

“Paz. I - I need to talk to you about something.” A gentle acquiescence was offered, with a touch of curiosity. Mabel drew a long breath, and heaved it out. Midday sun streamed through the window. “Dipper’s dead.”

There was a long moment of silence. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I… I’m sorry, Mabel.” The words were obviously difficult to form. “Are you okay? I know that a lot’s happened recently. All those  _ people…  _ but he was still your brother.”

“Y-yeah.”

“Do you want me to come over? Or you can come to the mansion. Mother and Father are out and we can- ”

“Thanks for the offer, Paz, but I think my family need me around right now. I’ve never seen Stan this angry, even when we found Dipper out in the first place.”

“Angry? Why would he be angry?”

“Ford was the one who killed Dipper. H-he shot him. It wasn’t part of the plan, we were supposed to fix him, b-but he lied. Now he just keeps talking about a prophecy which we don’t know the details of and it’s driving everybody crazy.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I don’t know if they’re going to move past this one. I don’t know if I can move past it, either. I wanted Dipper back. N-not dead.” 

Thick tears collided with the floorboards and Pacifica audibly panicked from the other end of the line. “Oh, god, honey, please don’t cry! O-or do, I mean, it’s only reasonable - oh, I don’t know. Be okay, Mabel. I’m sorry, I’m no use at this.”

“You’ll forget this soon, anyway.” Mabel circled her toe on the floor, feeling the rough push of the grain. 

“What do you mean, forget?” Pacifica sounded genuinely disturbed.

“U-uh, Ford’s fixing the memory gun. He’s going to make it work on like, a wide area, so we are gonna protect ourselves and set it off. If it works, then everyone will forget that Dipper existed.” She stalled. “We’re hoping - and it’s a bit insane - that Bill will remove the rest of the evidence.”

For a few minutes, Pacifica mulled it over. “Including your parents?”

“Especially my parents.”

There was a clatter, and the sound of material shifting around. “That’s it, I’m coming over. Tell Stanley to get properly dressed. I don’t need to see that.”

“Pacifica, you can’t -!”

“Look, Mabel, if the world is going to forget about your brother, you’re going to be left alone.” Pacifica sounded painfully kind. “Let me remember. I won’t remind anybody, and that way you can have somebody to talk to when times get rough. And they will. So, get ready for me to arrive, I’m bringing a lot of therapeutic stress foods.”

All of half an hour later, Pacifica was stood at the doorstep of the Mystery Shack, flanked by two laden servants. Mabel fell into her arms the second she opened the door; Paz clicked her finger and the men rushed to stock the food in the kitchen. Cooing gently, she led the girl into the lounge, sitting (with no small disgust) on the armchair. Mabel was curled up against her chest. She smelled frustratingly heavily of fresh strawberries, oak and glitter, a scent that was intermingled with something entirely unique. Pacifica threaded fingers through her hair, until any tangles were gone.

“Hello, loser,” she whispered. “Are you gonna talk to me, or sleep?”

“Hi. Can’t really sleep, I’ll probably have nightmares.” The brunette clasped her friend’s hand. 

Pacifica held on equally tightly. “When was this, out of interest?”

“T-two nights ago,” Mabel replied. “It’s taken - a little while to get everything built. Should be done today. Apparently.” 

“That’s what Ford said?” When Mabel averted her gaze, silenced, Pacifica burned with embarrassment. “Oh, shoot, was I not meant to mention him?”

“He’s still around,” came the mumbled response. “Unfortunately.”

“I get that he lied, but… Dipper wasn’t in a very good place anyway -”

“That’s not the  _ point! _ ” Mabel pushed herself off her friend’s lap, pacing around the room. Her shoulders twitched in annoyance and she gesticulated wildly. “I thought that we were getting him back! Sure, he never told me the details of the plan, but he definitely implied that it would all be okay after.” She paused. “Besides which, Stan told me that - that Bill only ever targeted Dipper because of Ford. Maybe I can forgive him, with time, but…” 

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Pacifica walked over and held Mabel close. 

Mabel dug her face into blonde hair. “I miss my brother, Paz. I don’t know what to do without him.”

***

The memory gun no longer really looked like a gun, per se. After some consideration, Pacifica suggested that it resembled a satellite dish; Mabel agreed tentatively. The old transparent bulb (one of the only salvageable parts) was sat at the centre of a black mesh bowl, input flashing on one side of the rectangular base.

DIPPER PINES.

Probably the last thing it would ever say.

Ford looked absolutely wrecked, to nobody’s surprise. He’d been working on the solution nonstop since that night; Stan had been inconsistent with food, at best. Aside from a few short naps here and there, he’d not rested, left in his study to mull over his failings. Incapable of going into the basement (already, it contained far too many ghosts), he set out the memory gun in the front lot. When townspeople stopped by to inquire about Dipper, he claimed that the device was designed to catch him. Somehow they never noticed the tremble in his hands.

In the meanwhile, Stan had forged a set of suspiciously realistic documents blaming the 37 deaths on an unexpected explosion, due to a gas leak. Trying to explain away the woman was a little more complex; he eventually decided that it could be blamed on an unnamed gang. 

Loose ends tied, hope placed (however foolishly) in Bill to remove the rest, they gathered in what looked like a perspex box. Stanford was holding a remote control. Mabel was tapping at the ‘glass’ uncertainly. “If this doesn’t work -” 

“It’s from another dimension, I assure you, it does work.” The man spoke with intense care. “I may have edited the gun to get past metal, but this is another story altogether. It’s impenetrable to magic, even.”

“Who did you get it from?” Pacifica’s jovial tone was almost jarring.

“O-oh!” Ford sounded painfully pleased at being addressed in a way that was not passive aggressive or melancholy. “I have a friend in dimension C137 who can get hold of just about anything. He’s - he’s an interesting guy.”

“Could you get on with it?” Stan was staring out at the forest with no expression.

Scolded, Ford nodded in determination, pressing the first button on the remote. A loud  _ whrrrrrr _ sounded as the machine powered up. He took a deep breath, and watched as the bulb grew almost unbearably bright, all four of them flinching at the unexpected light. 

It extinguished with a rush of energy, sending a pulse of electricity out. Grass blew in the unnatural ripple of the breeze. A second pulse began. Within a minute, the machine was giving out an unending stream of heat and radiation, curving around the box (something that Ford took secret pride in). Eventually, the bulb itself burnt out entirely. 

“We - we need to give it a minute. Wait until we know everything’s safe. But other than that, it should be done. It...” Stanford scratched nervously at the box, brow knitting suddenly. He ran his fingers through his hair once, and looked at his brother, plaintive. “Stanley - I… I…” 

“What is it, Sixer? Not like you to be at a loss for words.” The comment was designed to be cutting; it seemed to work, as the other man curled up visibly.

“I… can’t breathe. This is odd.” Increasingly panicked, he looked for the latch on the door. “M-maybe I’m claustrophobic, c-can anybody see the d-door?” 

Sharing a glance, Mabel and Pacifica opened the door, letting Stanford nigh on fall out of the box, gasping air and clutching his glasses in one hand. “I b-believe this is what i-is referred t-to as an anxiety at-tack.” A foreign twinge of pain was shooting up from his stomach as his head clouded. “I d-don’t - at least we kn-now where D-dipper got his from, h-heh.”

Stanley grumbled and crossed his arms. Eventually, his better nature took over, and he went out to Ford, rubbing his back and arm supportively. “It’s alright, bro. Just - just breathe deeply. That’s it.” He looked unimpressed. “Honestly, what do you have to be anxious about?”

“I don’t have any-where to g-go,” Ford mumbled, voice lilting. “Now th-this is done. Y-you said I h-had to leave and I-I’m not even d-documented properly. G-ravity Falls is all I h-have left.” Water gathered in his eyes, which were oddly naked without their austere frames, the glass that normally cut their warmth away. “I c-can’t lose you, Stanley. I kn-now I betrayed you, and him, b-but god dammit, Dipper was my family too.” He edged away from his twin’s touch, clutching his arms. “I l-loved him.”

Stan sighed, pulling his fez from his head. “Ah… know. I’m sorry. You don’t have to leave.” Ford visibly perked up at this, but his brother raised his hand in warning. “I’m not saying I’m not angry. I am. I’m fucking livid, Sixer. But I’ve lived out on the streets - been there, done that, got the tacky merchandise.” He laughed awkwardly. “I couldn’t do that to you. You gotta give us space, though.”

Sensing her own place in the matter, Mabel blinked owlishly, and nodded. “It’s gonna take a while. Possibly a very long one.”

Humming, Ford nodded, obviously not happy but a little more comforted than he had been before. “Okay. I’ll… I’ll pack this lot away.”  

“Come on, you two. We need to do our checks.” 

Later that evening, Mabel couldn’t help but cry as he heard Stan talk to her parents on the phone, checking to see if it had worked, knowing from his gruff replies that there hadn’t yet been a single mention of her twin brother. Perhaps Bill really had intervened. When he put down the receiver, Stan walked over to his great niece and shook his head, attempting a smile. So far as Mr and Mrs Pines were concerned, Dipper had never existed; he would continue to have never existed until the day that they died.

Mabel didn’t know if she could live fully again. 

Settling down for a meal with Pacifica and Stan, she listened to the birdsong outside, and tried not to think about the empty chair at the table - both for Dipper and Ford’s sakes. No point dwelling on what couldn’t be changed. No point dwelling on the agonies of the past.

Now - finally - it was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KPERY RZSHXR CNBVV - ZXRR MS CLWL  
> AJFWKLFZ TUJ RRB LAE QJOU ZAEL ENGV
> 
> I... yeah. Sorry. Only the epilogue to go. It's been a wild ride.
> 
> Huge thanks to Dweeblet and GG_GoddamitGabriel for two gorgeous fanarts:  
> fav.me/600678673  
> http://the-carcinogeneticist.tumblr.com/image/142225488170
> 
> SONGS: Golden Casket by King Baby James, and (gorgeous piano piece) Some by Nils Frahm


	20. Heart of Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY TO THOSE WHO WERE EXPECTING THIS TOMORROW I JUST HAVE NO SELF-CONTROL

“Bill?”

Dipper Pines, still fifteen, still alive, still caught somewhere in the middle of that interminable summer, lifted his hand to the sky. He skimmed his fingers along the beautiful midday warmth. After a busy morning practicing magical theory, he and Bill had taken a break - the human lying back in a field of high grass, coveted by the fresh scent of the season and relishing the sun on his face. Bill, not yet endowed with a body, was hovering on his back nearby.

“What’s up, PT?”

Dipper glanced over and grinned. He shaded his eyes. “You’re a nerd.”

Unsurprisingly, the demon didn’t move from his position, merely snorted. “Incredible. True genius you just imparted there kiddo.”

“I thought so,” the teen quipped easily. “I mean, you’re a loser too, but -”

He stopped short and laughed as Bill (still lying flat) sluggishly hovered over, extending an arm to prod Dipper in the face once or twice, incapable of quite seeing what he was hitting. “The audacity of it! Ya should know, you’re playing with fire, kid. Dream demons are notoriously proud.”

“I have fire too,” came the response, partnered with similarly half-assed attempts to bat Bill’s hand away. “I can burn you as well, you pompous isosceles.”

Giggling, the dream demon lowered himself until he was resting on the teenager’s chest. “You’re alright, kid.”

“Gee, thanks. A resounding endorsement.” Dipper feigned hurt, grinning indiscreetly. His amusement calmed. “I like you too.”

Only a month later, Dipper would be decorating the ground. But for now, at least, he was happy.

***

“Dipper?”

Mabel reached out to her brother, standing before her, back turned. Fingers found a purchase on his flannel and she swivelled him around, met with a bloodied face and an empty golden stare. When Dipper smiled, the gaps in his teeth were stained with red. “I’m dead, Mabel. Remember? Ford killed me. You never stopped him. H-how could you abandon me, Mabel?”

His twisted smile drooped into a grimace, eyes filling with tears. “You plotted with him, didn’t you? You wanted this.”

“No, no, Dipper. I never -” she backed away, hands up desperately. “You have to believe me, Dipper, I never wanted this. Never!”

His hand slipped around her neck and four slick, crimson fingers wavered in anticipation. “Say I believe you. Say I trust you, Mabel.” He leaned closer, crushing his hand tightly against her larynx. Breath tickled her ear as she choked. “ _I don’t really care.”_

Black danced in the corners of her vision, and then took over entirely.

***

Mabel awoke, sweat beading on her forehead.

She sighed, took in the scent of the attic room, and sat up on her bed. A singular pill awaited her; she took it blearily and stumbled into the bathroom. Hair stuck up at all angles, heavy bags sat under her eyes, and her pale skin spoke of a lack of sunlight. Still, she retained some cheer, and her weighted smile was a smile nonetheless. Listing over the sink, Mabel sighed.

It had been a long year.

Returning home to an unrecognisable room had been bizarre. After her extended stay in the Falls, she had boarded the bus alone, still half expecting a pair of panicked parents ( _where is your brother, what’s going on?_ ) and a lot of old possessions to pack away.

What she got was neither of those things. Her parents had hugged her as she clambered down from the bus steps and chatted easily, as though they hadn’t waved off two children at the start of the summer and had only one return. Her room was exactly that - hers. Dipper’s bed was mysteriously gone, as were all of his toys, books, scribblings, every hint that he had ever lived within those four walls. Every photograph was either edited to remove him (resulting in an excess of atmospheric nature shots) or destroyed completely. The kitchen table only had three chairs. All 128 of his favourite supernatural films, live action shows or documentaries had been cleared from their TV collection.

Nobody mentioned him in school. Max acted as though he had never seen Mabel in his life. There were no internet search results, no files or certificates. As surely as he had cut short the lives of 39 others, Dipper had been blotted out from existence.

At times, Mabel wondered if he was real in the first place. That was where Pacifica came in, offering help wherever it was needed, sitting up into the wee hours to calm down her best friend and promise anything that the girl wanted. While Mabel still had good school friends, they didn’t quite manage to give her the same comfort and peace of mind that Paz did, and over the space of that year she had grown to see her as the only true diamond in the world.

Then, one day in October, Mabel had awoken screaming.

***

_“Mabel? Mabel honey, are you okay?” Two soft hands took hold of her arms, pulling her into the present. “She’s - she seems to be awake. Darling, could you get something warm? Soothing - yes, tea works.”_

_***_

The sudden deluge of nightmares weren’t, she suspected, the work of Bill. For one, she’d had his nightmares before - they were wild, and generally lacking in what she would refer to as ‘nuance’. He was a being of chaos, after all. Chaotic was not how she would describe her dreams. They were _painful_ , containing countless renditions of her brother. Sometimes he would simply watch her from far away. Sometimes he would play with her, laughing, before gasping and leaning forward, blood dripping onto her legs. Rarely, it would simply be him. Pierced, cold, golden and dead. Those were the worst ones; she dreaded his accusatory words, his twisted demeanor.

Marie Pines (her mother, and a gentle soul) noticed the lack of sleep her daughter was getting, and immediately tried to find a solution. Thomas Pines (her father, who was the obvious source of Mabel’s temperament) hugged his girl tightly and called her his ‘sweetie glitter pumpkin’, and did she want some new yarn?

Endeared but frustrated, her mom called up a therapist, and contacted the school. Mabel suddenly found that she had a lot less work and a chillingly familiar pill bottle. During a phone call, she discreetly enquired as to whether Stan still had Dipper’s medication.

***

_“Uhh… yeah, somewhere. Ford packed it all up a while ago. Why?”_

_“Just curious, Grunkle Stan. How is Ford, anyway?” Mabel twirled the cord of her mother’s custom bakelite phone, nibbling on her lip._

_The long silence following said far more than Stanley could._

***

In all honesty, Mabel was surprised that her great uncles had managed to come to some form of reconciliation. Following the death, they argued constantly, Ford frequently heavily inebriated and trying - in his awkward, guilt-ridden manner - to mourn. Stan begged him to _drop the bottle, please, go to bed, the kid’s trying to sleep_ as his brother furiously smashed up the third exhibit that week.

Every fight lasted well into the night and their great niece had hidden beneath her bedcovers, shaking and wishing that her brother could curl up with her and comfort her. She wished that the bed across from her own were not so neatly made, brother’s suitcase tucked tidily beneath and with his pine tree hat sat, static, on a bedpost. One could almost have believed that he was going to return at any minute.

The morning after almost always consisted of Stan informing his twin that he was a selfish bastard. Ford never replied, staring into his glass of water and denying the fact that he might have to take his bitter paracetamol.

***

_“Take the damn pills, Sixer.”_

_“Alright, alright.” A large palm scooped up the medication, throwing them back with disgruntled ease. “They just taste bad, okay?”_

***

Going home in October, all in all, was a relief. Mabel only had to hear of the disagreements and the low points via phone calls rather than firsthand; as much as she wanted to help them out, no 16 year old could really be considered mature enough to deal with it properly. Besides which, she needed time to mourn of her own. Her empty room, emptier life and gentle loneliness was a constant and frustratingly casual reminder of all that she had lost.

Now, it was summer, and despite Mabel’s sensibilities screaming in horror, she had returned to the Falls.

Nothing particularly exciting had occurred for the first month, save for an observation of the improved (but ever so slightly cool) relationship between Stan and Ford. Wendy visited every now and again. Mabel spent practically every other night at Northwest Mansion, where she daydreamed about kissing Pacifica’s soft, small lips. Candy and Grenda dragged her to a few lively concerts, where she sang her heart out and wished that she could simply pour away everything in her mind for a bit.

Pulling on a pair of worn jeans and her softest blue jumper, Mabel stretched up to the ceiling and walked downstairs, making for the basement. The elevator rattled like an ancient memory.

It was a year today that Dipper had first betrayed them.

The basement had not been touched since that day. A chair, dusty and alone, sat towards the far wall, duct tape still clinging onto its arms and legs. Specks of blood decorated the floor.

It was perfectly silent and still, now, but the panic and terror of the time still slammed into her full-force at the sight. She knew exactly where Dipper had knelt. Where he had stood as Bill dragged him away, out of their lives and eventually to his death.

The room was better off left alone.

“Mabel? Mabel, where are ya?”

Stan’s voice rang through the room, partnered with the creaking groans of the elevator. She didn’t bother to turn when she heard him enter. “Mabel, what are you doing down here? You know Ford doesn’t want us in the basement anymore.” When his great niece continued to stare, he realised. “Oh. It’s today, is it?”

“Yeah.” A moth flew into the air.

“That would explain why Sixer is still asleep, heh. Guess he doesn’t want to think about it.” Receiving no laughter, Stanley bit at his cheek and walked forward, catching Mabel’s shoulder. “It feels like yesterday,” he whispered. “I can almost see him.”

“It feels like it was an age ago, to me. Every day feels like an age without him there.”

“I - I know.” He hugged her with one arm. “Every day feels like an age with Ford bein’ - like this, although it’s hardly comparable.” Dust danced wildly around them. “God, I miss him though. The way he’d go off into little daydreams at the dinner table, or wave papers in my face when he discovered something interestin’.”

“He was my brother.” Mabel shrugged one shoulder helplessly. “There’ll never be another Dipper Pines.”

They stood in the doorway a little longer, gazing out and seeing entirely different pasts. Wearing a forced smile, Stan offered his hand. Mabel took it, and they went up to the shop together.

“What’re you wantin’ to do now, kid?” He stared at the till, as though wishing the contents to sort themselves. “Ya can have somebody over if it’s needed.”

“It’s… okay, Grunkle Stan. I think I’ll go have a nap.” She ascended the stairs and took a deep breath, listening to the sound of her great uncle moving away, wondering internally if he would ever fully forgive the world.

***

Mabel opened the door to her room, and there was an angel on the bed.

It appeared to have been waiting for a while, settled in on the previously smooth bedsheets that used to belong to her brother, eyes resting listlessly forward. A halo of light surrounded its face in perfect tranquility; when she faltered, it smiled.

“Hello again, Mabel.”

She wanted to scream, she really did, but when she tried no sound would come out - only meaningless plumes of air. Gradually, the glow around the visitor faded.

“H-how - how are you - ” she stuttered.

To Mabel’s mind, her twin looked… fuller? Older, definitely, although he was perfectly clean shaven and his face carried a slightly childish air of amusement. Dressed in a crisply pressed suit, he seemed to have gained a love affair with black - the whole thing lacked colour, save for a few choice golden highlights. Cheeks distinctly more rounded, exhaustion surprisingly absent, he carried a healthy dusting of a blush that looked less like Dipper and more like somebody else entirely.

Then there was his eyes. Pure gold iris. No pupil. His indistinct gaze made Mabel shiver and want to get out as soon as possible - it screamed ‘inhuman’, it screamed ‘Bill Cipher’. His attire coalesced into a unified embodiment of the dream demon.

God, did it sound like him, though. Slightly deeper voice, maybe. But it was still Dipper.

“Don’t call for Sixer and Fez,” he ordered cheerfully. “That would only end badly. But you know. Sit down, I’m not gonna bite.” His form flickered and he scowled, suddenly slightly shorter and bloodied. With a glare, it shifted back. “Shit. Sorry, it does this sometimes. I’m still only a newborn, so it still needs to settle.”

“N-newborn?” She sat down next to him tentatively. “What do you mean? What are you?”

“I’m a Shade.” Dipper spoke with a definite sense of pride. “They’re the servants of demons. Bill built me.”

Mabel thought that she was going to faint. Or maybe she was dreaming. It would make far more sense than this insanity. “T-tell me about it.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Really? That’s the first thing you want to know about?”

“Sure.” She ran her hands along the bed, fear and joy prickling in her skull. “I have plenty of time.”

Shrugging one shoulder, he looked down at his hands with those sightless eyes, and hummed. “Well, it’s either unbelievably complex or painfully simple depending on how you explain it. The simple one seems prudent. So, I died, you know that. Bill owned me, and as such he kept my soul rather than it being dispersed as they usually are.” He paused. “Spoiler alert. Anyway, using my old body and some photographs that he had taken, he could build me. It took a fair while - hardly a quick process, to make a fully fledged and perfectly accurate immaterial body - but he did it.”

“No pupils?”

“Nah. Shades don’t often have them. It makes their owner’s colours more evident.” He smiled, and it was a kiss from a nightmare. “The form can shift and change at will, but when it’s newer it can be quite temperamental. Same thing with the soul. I may be an entirely different person come next summer.”

“I h-hope not,” she chuckled, swiping at her eyes. “Oh geez, sorry. I’m a little overwhelmed. I’ve - I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too, Shooting Star. You’re the only one that I _have_ missed. It’s not been so long since I was put together, but even then, it’s been a busy time.” Blue flame flickered up his hand, dancing along his arm; it took all of Mabel’s self control to remain where she was rather than back away. “Being taught the basics of deal making. Like learning your parent’s trade.”

His bark of laughter dissolved into complete hysterics, youthful and bright when disconnected from the perfect suit. Brown curls bounced in the sunlight. Mabel was mesmerised.

“S-sorry,” he giggled. “Just. The idea of Bill as a father figure was too much. Where were we?”

“Deals,” she whispered.

“Oh yeah, deals. They are almost shockingly easy once you learn how, you know. Especially when it comes to twisting the words to suit your needs. Craft your language well enough, and they’re eating out of your palm before you can so much as shake it.” His reverent gaze had been turned to the window; he looked back to find Mabel equally enthralled. “Hm. Do you want to know why Sixer killed me, Mabel?”

She didn't particularly, but found herself nodding anyway.

“The prophecy, the one that he never fully says… It talks about the one who would bring about Armageddon.” Dipper flickered between his twelve year old self and the older one, both wearing the same grin. “It talks about me.”

A slip of fear folded itself in Mabel's throat. Silently, a book appeared in her lap and she read the scratchy lines of poetry:

‘ _Months to light the angered flame;_  
_Naught but captive soul to blame -_  
_The fallen pines with the golden eyes_ _  
Will orchestrate the world's demise_

 

  * __2212 AD’__



 

The future tickled her fingertips. “That explains the thing Ford's always saying. But what're the numbers?”

“Supposed date. The prophetess dated it incorrectly on purpose, because she feared for the lives of the Pines born around the time of the prophecy's fulfillment. Smart woman - there were plans to prevent us from having children, you know.”

“Shit,” Mabel breathed. “There's a prophecy about you. A _prophecy._ ” She dusted her hand over the page, as though wishing to imprint it forever via her very skin. “That’s insane.”   

Dipper laughed, gentle glow permeating his eyelids even when closed. “My response exactly. Bill thought it was hysterical… But that's not why I'm here. I need to warn you. The prophecy is going to come true.” He blinked. “The world is going to end, and there’s no stopping it.”

“What!” She jumped up to her feet, almost dropping it - magic caught the leather before it could hit the floor, and dissipated it into nothing. “No. How are we… how do I…”

“You could always join us.” Dipper spoke so matter-of-factly it seemed nigh obvious that she should. “I could protect you. In fact, Bill can appreciate a wild spirit, and you’re nothing if not spirited, ‘Star.”

“ _Just join you?_ Mabel clawed at her hair. “What world are you living in? I can’t betray my family! Not Mom or Dad, or Stan and Ford, we have a whole life. Not everyone can just up and abandon everybody who loved them.” He flinched, and she deflated, sitting back down. She stared at her bed. “I… well, I did mean that but… it’s whatever. Either way, I’m not switching sides.”

Golden eyes pierced the side of her head. “So be it.” He laced his fingers together. “In any case, I wanted to make sure you knew. We’re currently estimating a year. Could be less than that, of course. It all depends on the results of the tests I performed last year.”

“Tests?” Stanley dropped something downstairs, making the boy jump and hum nervously. “What - we’re to expect something like that? Dipper, you can’t -”

He visibly _flinched_ and turned away. “Don’t - don’t call me that.” Danger hummed in his tone. “I don’t use that name anymore. I go by Pine Tree.”

“Whyever not?” Mabel asked. “I mean… you didn’t have a problem with it before you. Heh. Before you died.”

Pine Tree shifted uncomfortably, apparently weighing up a response. “You remember this day, a year ago, right?”

“How could I forget?” she mumbled.

“I said that either I was Dipper Pines, or that he’d died a long time ago.” Pine Tree smirked to himself. “Only one of those can be true now. I’m not Dipper. I’m a shade, I’m not even human. While I retain some of my attachment… I’m not really your brother either. So I don’t use that name. It would be inaccurate even if it didn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“O-okay then. Well, Pine Tree, you can’t do this. Think of all the people you care about who will be affected!”

“ _Cared._ Past tense. You’re the only one I remotely want to save, so don’t try to appeal to my ‘morality’.”

“You honestly don’t want to save our Grunkles at all?”

“For pity’s sake. _Your_ Grunkles _._ Besides which, you must be joking. _”_ Pine Tree jabbed a thumb at his forehead, growling. “Do you forget this, or what? It’d take a hell of a lot of remorse to win me over again.”

“Well, if you want remorse then I’d say his violent alcoholism is probably a good sign.” Mabel couldn’t help but sound infuriated. After watching her brother struggle and slip away for so many years, she’d had to witness Ford slumping over a table, obviously plastered and crying something incoherent into the wood. Stan didn’t know what to do - he had somehow maintained the family glue, pushing his own issues aside to try and support his brother. “He put up a grave at some point, buried your hat. To try and move on, and he’s getting better -”

“Don’t water it down,” Pine Tree hummed. “I see everything Bill sees. He tried to wipe his memory more than once, although Fez talked him down. It must have taken a long time to rebuild that gun.”

“And this doesn’t mean _anything_ to you?” Her voice was nearing a shout. Pine Tree shot a warning glare at Mabel. “Surely you realise that he’s _sorry?”_

“Oh, I realise that, I just don’t really care.” He took a hold of his sister’s palm, shockingly warm, not quite human. “Listen. Can you imagine what it’s like, to know that you’re probably going to die, and to do so horribly? What it’s like to spend every day in fear, wondering if you’ll get to go quickly or end up in the hands of somebody particularly vengeful?” He quietened, until the sound of the animals outside became audible. “Can you imagine how utterly terrifying it was, in that final second, to realise that it would be your own family who would end it?”

Silence fell, and the girl turned away, her hands trembling.

“Yeah. Exactly.” Pine Tree warmed slightly. “Don’t worry about it. It’s difficult to understand.”

Leaning into his open arms, Mabel attempted to take in any scent that there was. Frustratingly, he merely smelt of ozone and fire; it was so familiar that she once again wondered how often Dipper had returned after a long day in the forest with magic clinging to his clothing. Beyond that, the realism was astonishing. Material shifted against what felt exactly like arms, tough fingernails digging accidentally into her skin. An idea popped into the girl’s head.

“Can we - I mean, this sounds so odd, but can we bury you?” Mabel winced. “For closure’s sake.”

Pine Tree laughed. For a long time. “You may not want to, ‘Star. Bill… well, we do still _have_ the body, I suppose…”

His sister blinked. “Then why not?”

“It’s not really _put together,_ for want of a better term. Bill went a bit overboard when he was building me and he wanted to see what was on the inside as well as the out. Unless you want a collection of limbs, I wouldn’t really recommend it.”

“So you’re telling me…” she whispered. “You’re telling me that Cipher dismembered you, just for the hell of it?”

“It wasn’t as though I was going to need it again. We have the skull for the sake of what he refers to as ‘hella aesthetic’, but other than that, eh.” The shade shrugged, clutching her closer. “It’s hardly important.”

“It sort of is.” Mabel pushed away, sitting cross legged on the bed. “There’s no way to get you back, now.”

“How many times - the body is dead, Shooting Star. There was no saving it in the first place.” He hummed. “Anyway, enough of this. It’s polite to ask you how _you’ve_ been.”

“Even though you’ve probably seen most of it.”

“I have,” he confirmed.  

Shrugging, Mabel agreed to talk, regaling her not-brother with the tales of the past year, laughing and choking up in fairly equal measure. His eyes bored into the pill bottle and then into his old pine tree trucker cap as she went, taking in the room for what they both assumed was the last time. Their parents were discussed in detail, as was their old school, and while Mabel could tell that part of his demeanour was purely put on, she appreciated the moment while it lasted. For a few hours she could feel less alone.

Dusk began to fall. As the sun dipped beneath the tree line, Pine Tree flickered severely. “Shoot,” he mumbled. “Guess my time is up. Form doesn’t do to well in this dimension. Too long and it falls apart, and I don’t think that Bill wants to build another one.” He smirked. “It’ll improve with time.”

“I… but you only just got here.” Tears began to drip onto Mabel’s jeans. “Y-you can’t leave me again, Dip, you can’t go. This year has been hell without you!” She grabbed his hands, trying to hold him there, but they were already losing their weight and shape. Somehow, it felt like losing him all over again; it ached just as much to watch him leave, even if it was with a lot less of the vitriol and violence of before.

“Not Dipper, remember?” Pine Tree smiled, and hugged her tightly. “Be careful, ‘Star. The end of the world grows closer by the day. And there’ll be no stopping it. But… my offer stands.”

He faded slowly, until the bed was vacated, weighed down by only one body rather than two. Mabel wiped at her eyes and wrung her hands. “There’s still some Dipper in there,” she whispered. “And I’m going to save him.”

***

Stanford was slumped on his desk, only just awake, flask inches from his fingers. He was trying desperately not to look at the calendar on his wall.

“Jus’ a few more hours,” he mumbled, voice crackling. “Jus’ a few more hours and it’ll be tomorrow.”

Listening in, Stanley paused outside the door, sighing inwardly. Raising his fist, he rapped on the wood twice. “Hey, Sixer? Were you wanting food?” When he received no response he entered anyway. “Oi. Brother. Food.”

“Don’ want it,” he mumbled, heat already gathering behind his eyes. “Let me sleep.”

Stanley walked over and hugged his twin tightly. “You’re gonna be alright. But only if you actually eat, ya moron, so get in the kitchen.”

Ford smiled, and stood slowly.

***

“I’m sorry!” the voice pleaded, desperation seeping through. “I didn’t mean to go back on our deal, I swear -”

The crunch of bone. Screaming, the voice’s pleading was cut short.

“You should’ve thought about that before you made the deal. Never promise anything if there’s a chance you can’t go through with it. Don’t they teach you meatsacks anything?” A second voice, cold and youthful, seemed to twist with enjoyment at the stifled whimpers of pain. “No. I’ve been through your educational system. Useless.”

“But the… the website said… you were f-fair…”

“Websites say whatever the hell you want them to. I’m not -.” Another crunch. A stifled cry. “ - a good person, never mind a fair one. Enough of that infernal _noise_.” There was a giggle.

“Y-you’re insane,” the first voice whimpered.

Laughter. “Sure I am. What’s your point?”

“You look - you -” Another torn cry. Ragged breathing, and then a satisfied sigh from the second voice.

“See, that little prod just pushed you into the ‘fully paid’ zone. Doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun, though... “ A foul wrenching sound accompanied the miserable sob. “Ah, come now, don’t call me that. My name’s _Pine Tree.”_

Two golden eyes roved over their victim, and then the small vial lying a few feet away. “So you _did_ have it! Great.”

_‘Bill? Good news. The deal went perfectly. I expect we can start putting things in motion almost immediately.’_

Pine Tree held the vial up to the light, watching as gold beams refracted through the glass. A shark’s grin alighted his features, flecked with blood and determination. Another soul glimmered through faux irises.  

 _‘Are you ready for_ **_the end_ ** _?’_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be one hell of an author’s note, but I have a hell of a lot to say! Important things too, so I recommend you read this.
> 
> I would like to start with a HUGE THANK YOU to everybody who has commented, left kudos, bookmarked, rec’d or drawn art for this fic! Your support has left me insanely cheerful, especially with my long term commenters, and TheArtisticIntrovert who has compiled all the songs into an 8tracks playlist (which is insanely good of them, thank you!!) and can be found [here](http://8tracks.com/theartisticintrovert/g-o-l-d). You’re just the best, guys. Objectively, you are the best. I can’t list everyone here or this would become stupidly long.
> 
> With that in mind, I do have an ‘announcement’ of sorts. I lie, I have two.
> 
> Firstly, I would like to announce a new project which anybody can get involved in! I’m often surprised by the turns that stories take, having an idea of what they’re going to go myself... I’m never right. Therefore, I am creating the ‘All’s Gold’ series. This will be a collection of alternate endings to the story, as you guys thought it was going to go! Did you think that Dipper was going to kill Ford in a panic? Tell me in the comments, and it’ll be included as a chapter! Did you think that Stan was going to turn into a huge lilo and terrorise the town? That’s… weird, but you should still tell me about it, if only so that I can marvel at the bizarreness of your imagination. Ideas that are very similar (ie. shooting Ford as opposed to, say, shooting all of the family) will be compounded into one. I’ll also be including what I call the ‘Weird End’, which is one of my discarded ideas that I was sad to lose. Think of this as a big thanks to all of you (live out your fanfiction fantasies), and as a way to showcase just how cool and varied people can be! I look forward to finding out what you guys were expecting.
> 
> Secondly, (and oh gosh this really is one hell of a note), meet my next project:  
> 
> 
> Gold officially has a sequel! Which was probably anticipated, seeing as I made a series very prematurely. It’s… very different, in a lot of ways, but I’m hoping it’ll be something unique. A Mabel-centric, full on armageddon story! The prophecy will finally be fulfilled, and the world really doesn’t see it coming. If Weirdmaggedon didn’t have enough fighting or grit for you, this should fill up that world-ending hole in your heart.
> 
> I think I’ll leave it at that. Again, insane kudos (haha) to you guys for your response and general trashiness. It’s been a wild ride.
> 
> See you soon…
> 
> SONG: Gold by Imagine Dragons
> 
> IPRI GUXL VMFHL; KMTCHK MEPYV,  
> MOI IAG HM XMZH BAWIYI GVA GNOEZ.  
> QEOHE ZGVRDFZ ‘TPRDLL PIG PX PR!’  
> FHW PPVIF JHA XLR EXZX SS KBT.


End file.
